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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940870">Could I Try Again, Try Again, Try Again? (old version)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezeekrecord/pseuds/thezeekrecord'>thezeekrecord</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationship, Alcoholic Behavior, I'm sorry half life fans for the way the tag is I'm so sorry, M/M, Medical Abuse, forced surgery/sedation, i just needed someone to be antagonistic, u don't gotta know dr. breen to get this it's fine, unreality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:40:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezeekrecord/pseuds/thezeekrecord</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of scenes centering around Dr. Coomer and Bubby. After meeting as lab partners, the two of them fall for each other almost immediately--but Bubby, being a top secret Black Mesa experiment, can't leave the facility. As complicated situations are thrown at them one after another, the two of them simply hope for a day when they can be together.</p><p>THERE'S A NEW VERSION!! <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907495/chapters/68338996">pls click here to read the new version instead!!!</a> i don't like this version for a lot of reasons but it's staying up by popular request!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>248</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ohh god i didn't mean for this to get so long but here we are. it's just a collection of scenes i wanted to write so it doesn't feel totally like a unified story, so good luck in there. many scenes highly inspired by posts written by batz on tumblr!!!</p><p>edit: hey as an unfortunate addendum just because i've ended up seeing a LOT of really bad highly triggering stuff from people, especially on here, really quick: if you're an "anti anti" / "pro-shipper" / fetishize pedophilia, incest, rape/"non-con", then i don't want your support on my fics. i'm also not gonna argue this.</p><p>to everyone else though, your support has meant a lot to me, thank you! i'm writing more expanding on my thoughts on the way i set this universe, other character work, etc etc! as i type this right now i'm currently at 70k words on it lol. i'm gonna finish that in its entirety before i start posting just like i did with this one, i operate best like that. i hope to see u all there once i'm done!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Does a fish in a pond dream of the ocean? How many humans feel suffocated by their lives on Earth when they look up at the night sky? When Bubby watches his coworkers leave the Black Mesa facility for the weekend or holidays or even just for errands, does he feel like an animal in a cage, kept where he doesn’t belong? Or does he feel like a fish in a tank, protected from the harsh, untenable conditions of the outside world?</p><p>These were never thoughts Bubby put much time into. He had no time to waste, after all, as Black Mesa was as harsh on deadlines as always—science took priority over anything else. What was there to the outside world, anyway? Strip malls and bowling alleys? None of what he heard about through Black Mesa employees or from TV ever truly interested him. Why waste his time with what everyone else already knows when he could be studying what the public <em> doesn’t </em> know? Bubby had everything he ever needed at Black Mesa. There was no reason to leave.</p><p>“Ah, 6 o’clock!” Dr. Coomer announced, right on the dot as always.</p><p>Bubby stared down at the pages scattered over his desk, chewing on his pen as he tried to keep Coomer’s chatter from interrupting his train of thought. “Mm-hmm.” He muttered.</p><p>Dr. Coomer’s chair scraped against the tile as he scooted back, approaching Bubby’s desk eagerly. “Dr. Bubby, would you care to join me back to the dormitories?”</p><p>Bubby let out a quiet, annoyed breath. His newest lab partner was nothing if not persistent—just a couple weeks after they started working together, this had become their evening routine. If being stuck in an office together for the majority of the day wasn’t enough, Dr. Harold P. Coomer was determined to spend every other waking second with him as well. Joining him on the tram to the labs, sitting with him during his lunch, wanting to go back to the dorms together—Bubby was fairly certain Dr. Coomer would pay good money to have them surgically joined at the hip while Bubby slept. He glanced up at Dr. Coomer, that same kind, lopsided, goofy smile on his face as every other evening. A feeling Bubby was absolutely certain must have been irritation stirred in his chest, and he tore his eyes away to look back down at his work.</p><p>“I’m busy.” He replied tersely, just like always.</p><p>Usually, Dr. Coomer would take the hint and leave, allowing Bubby some quiet time to get some real work done for a few hours before heading back to his dorm to sleep. Bubby stared intently at a spot of stray ink on his paper, waiting for Dr. Coomer to say goodnight and be on his way, but he just stood there. Bubby risked another glance up at him after a few awkward seconds. Dr. Coomer still smiled down at him, but there was a hint of something else in his expression this time—what was that, pity? Bubby’s stomach churned a little bit at the thought.</p><p>“Now, Dr. Bubby, I know you’re an excellent scientist dedicated to the pursuit of science, but...” Dr. Coomer paused, running a hand through his near shoulder-length hair. “Well, it’s a Friday evening. And there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I had somewhat hoped we could...well...watch it together, if you’d like?”</p><p>Bubby stared at him. “...Together?”</p><p>Dr. Coomer grinned. “Yes! I got wine and snacks! I thought we could go sit just outside the dormitories.”</p><p>Bubby blinked, then looked back down at his work. Then he looked up at Coomer again, the gears in his head grinding to a stop. Dr. Coomer was twirling his dark brown hair streaked with gray in his fingers, looking down at Bubby expectantly. Bubby opened his mouth, prepared by instinct to say no.</p><p>“...Okay.” He said instead.</p><p>Bubby hardly had a moment to question himself or regret his decision before Dr. Coomer’s face split into a wide, bubbly smile. Bubby felt dizzy looking at him, but he stood all the same, packing away his work into his folder and trying desperately not to look at Dr. Coomer as he immediately began to prattle on about the meteor shower. He was going to miss out on so much valuable work time by just sitting around watching lights in the sky, he lamented silently as he followed Dr. Coomer to the tram.</p><p>There was a little bit of time to kill before the meteor shower, so Dr. Coomer directed Bubby to head on outside without him whenever he was ready while he gathered the promised snacks. Bubby dropped his things off in his dorm, pausing at the front door. He rarely had any reason to even step outside at all—within the Black Mesa facility’s property, of course. Maybe that was why his heart was pounding. Whether it was excitement or anxiety, Bubby couldn’t tell, but if it was outside of his comfort zone...</p><p>Bubby gathered himself and headed for the exit of the dormitories, eyeing the security guard there uneasily. Each time he had to go outside, he had to be supervised—which usually wasn’t an issue if he was just heading between buildings, but this could be another story. He glanced behind himself to be sure Dr. Coomer hadn’t arrived yet before he approached the guard, who looked at Bubby knowingly.</p><p>“I, uh, was going to watch the meteor shower.” Bubby announced to him.</p><p>“Do you have clearance?” The guard asked him.</p><p>“No, but I’m literally just going to be right outside.” Bubby argued, indicating towards the door irritably. “It’s not like I’d have anywhere to fucking go if I ran off, we’re in the middle of the goddamn desert!”</p><p>The guard quirked his eyebrow, giving him an unsympathetic look. “Look, man, I was just told you can only go outside if you have clearance and an escort.”</p><p>Bubby huffed. “I’m going to be out there with my lab partner, Dr. Harold Coomer. <em> He’ll </em> ‘escort’ me.”</p><p>“And he gave you clearance to be out there?”</p><p>Bubby paused. “...Yes, he did.”</p><p>The guard shrugged, picking up the magazine he’d been reading. “Alright, just wait here for him, then.”</p><p>Bubby scoffed and leaned against the wall across from the desk the guard was sat at, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently. Soon enough, Dr. Coomer came bustling into the lobby, carrying a brown paper bag close to his chest. He looked at Bubby with a kind smile.</p><p>“Dr. Bubby! You didn’t have to wait here for me.” Dr. Coomer said, placing a hand on Bubby’s shoulder. Bubby’s whole body tensed at the contact, and Dr. Coomer seemed quick to notice, pulling away and wrapping it back around the paper bag.</p><p>“W-well, whatever, let’s go.” Bubby grumbled, casting the guard a nervous glance as he headed for the door. He heard no objections as he pushed it open, greeted by the warm spring air and the sound of crickets. Dr. Coomer was close behind, immediately taking the lead to some spot he must have already picked out. Bubby looked on in surprise as Dr. Coomer took him behind a formation of rocks, where he seemed to have preemptively set out some old lawn chairs.</p><p>“Here, do you want some wine?” Dr. Coomer offered as he set down the bag on one of the chairs.</p><p>“I—sure.” Bubby muttered as he eased himself down into the second chair.</p><p>Dr. Coomer poured a generous helping of Moscato into a plastic wine glass, holding it out to Bubby. Bubby reached for it, attempting to take it carefully to avoid contact with Dr. Coomer, but their fingers brushed against each other despite his efforts. It felt almost like an electric shock up his arm. He didn’t jerk back, though—he pulled back gently, avoiding Dr. Coomer’s gaze as he took a small sip.</p><p>“So...Dr. Bubby.” Dr. Coomer said as he poured himself a glass, settling down into his chair. “How long have you been with Black Mesa?”</p><p>Bubby frowned, taking a deep sip of his wine. “...A while.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer hardly missed a beat. “What school did you study at, then?”</p><p>“It was...I...” Bubby looked away evasively, floundering for a moment before giving up on finding some satisfactory answer. “Where did <em> you </em> study?”</p><p>“...I studied in Canada.” Dr. Coomer replied. “I just moved to America fairly recently to work here at Black Mesa.”</p><p>“...Hm.”</p><p>There was a brief awkward pause as the two sipped their wine.</p><p>“...Have you ever been to Canada?” Dr. Coomer asked.</p><p>“Uhh...no.”</p><p>Another silence settled over them before Dr. Coomer started going on about some old college stories. Bubby stared up at the sky as he spoke, watching the last hints of sun slowly disappear over the horizon and drinking his wine quietly. Just as he finished his glass, Dr. Coomer poured him a second one while he talked. Bubby’s attention drifted between Dr. Coomer’s stories and the sensations of being outdoors. There were so many stars—he couldn’t even remember the last time he went out after dark, and whenever that must have been, he was surely too busy to even look up. It was sort of dizzying to look at, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. All his work centered on space in some way or another, and yet he never really just took a moment to appreciate it. It was getting a little bit chillier as the last traces of sunlight faded away; it bothered Bubby quite a lot, but the wine helped warm him just enough to remain resolute. Soon, Dr. Coomer stopped, pointing eagerly up at the sky.</p><p>“Look, Bubby, I think I saw one!” He said excitedly. Bubby stared up intently, waiting impatiently until he saw a split-second streak of light.</p><p>“Whoa.” Bubby breathed.</p><p>The two of them fell into silence as they watched meteors rush by, until they were fairly certain all of the meteors they would be able to see were long gone. Dr. Coomer let out a contented sigh before knocking back the remaining wine in his cup and setting it carefully back into his paper bag, along with the mostly empty bottle of wine.</p><p>“Thank you for joining me tonight, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer said with a kind smile.</p><p>Bubby stared at him for a long moment. Maybe it was just because he was surely drunk by this point, but something inside him ached at the idea of them parting ways for the night—no, for the whole weekend. He held out his empty cup to him, which Coomer accepted gently—this time, seemingly deliberately brushing his fingers over Bubby’s. The two of them lingered that way for a long moment, just reveling in the touch before Dr. Coomer finally took the cup from Bubby. Bubby cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest.</p><p>“Next time, we better not do anything when it’s so goddamn cold.” He grumbled.</p><p>Dr. Coomer snorted. “Yes, next time we can do something warmer, if you’d like.”</p><p>Bubby’s voice caught in his throat when he realized his mistake. He wanted to hurriedly retract his statement about a <em> next time </em>, but he simply couldn’t find the words as Dr. Coomer collected himself and stood. Bubby quickly followed suit, keeping close to Dr. Coomer as they headed back into Black Mesa. Once inside, they followed each other for a little while down a hallway until they both began to turn in opposite directions at a fork in the hallway.</p><p>“Oh.” Bubby muttered. “I...I’ll see you on Monday, Dr. Coomer.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer nodded with an enthusiastic grin. “See you Monday, Dr. Bubby!”</p><p>Bubby watched as Dr. Coomer headed down the hall until he disappeared around another corner. He gripped the fabric of his shirt over his stomach and headed back towards his own dorm. Maybe...maybe Dr. Coomer wasn’t quite so annoying after all.</p><p>****</p><p>Dr. Coomer and Bubby spent a lot more time together after that. Rather than finishing up his work in his office like he used to, he’d always walk back to the dorms with Dr. Coomer and finish up in his room—sometimes even in Dr. Coomer’s dorm, after they’d spent enough time together. Bubby tried not to think too much of it, much less the fluttering feeling that would always accompany the sight of Dr. Coomer. He was just happy to have a friend, was all. Surely that was it—and that was an alien enough feeling to him that the realization of that alone made him uneasy.</p><p>Still, for however strange and uncomfortable it was at first, he eventually grew more comfortable with the feelings that would always pop up around Dr. Coomer without fail. This was surely normal, he’d come to rationalize to himself. Sometimes you just feel like you can barely contain yourself when you’re around another man. Sometimes that man laughs loudly and whole-heartedly at a joke you made, and you feel like there’s nothing more important in the entire world than that little moment. That’s normal. A normal, human emotion that definitely doesn’t have any connotations other than a strong friendship.</p><p>The friendship couldn’t go far without a moment Bubby always dreaded, though. He felt like he could just live like this with Dr. Coomer forever—respectable distances slowly closing in until they could sit comfortably right up against each other, stolen sips of coffee off Dr. Coomer’s desk, long conversations into the night about science and space and TV shows and absolutely nothing—but there soon came the inevitable. Dr. Coomer was lounging lazily on the couch as Bubby sat at Dr. Coomer’s dining table, catching up on a bit of work he’d missed when the offer came.</p><p>“Bubby, since the project is going to be finished up pretty soon...I was wondering if you’d like to take a long weekend off with me and go for a little trip.” Dr. Coomer suggested, sitting up just enough to gauge Bubby’s reaction.</p><p>Bubby frowned deeply, tapping his pen anxiously on his paper. “I...well...I can’t.”</p><p>“Oh, come now, Bubby, surely you could afford to take an extra day off.” Dr. Coomer insisted with a playful smile.</p><p>Guilt churned in Bubby’s stomach as he looked away. “No, Dr. Coomer, I...” Well, after all this time, he might as well tell him, he decided. He took a deep breath and looked back at Dr. Coomer. “I’m...I can’t leave Black Mesa.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer stared at him, his smile fading away.</p><p>Bubby stood and approached the couch, sitting on the arm of it and dragging his palm down his face. “I was born down here while they were testing the artificial creation of humans. They made me, so...I’m property of Black Mesa. They started letting me live in the dorms and have some other employee benefits, but until I die, whenever that may be, I’m never going to be allowed to leave.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer squeezed Bubby’s hand tightly as he looked down and processed this information. They remained that way for a long time, Dr. Coomer seeming to be thinking something over. Finally, he looked Bubby in the eye, reaching with his other hand to gently touch the side of Bubby’s face. Bubby’s heart raced, his cheeks growing hot at the touch. That was normal, right? A moment like this, the way his chest felt like it could explode? He stared down at Dr. Coomer, frozen like a deer in the headlights. Dr. Coomer didn’t say anything—he just looked back up at Bubby with the saddest expression he’d ever seen on him. The sight could practically rip Bubby to shreds.</p><p>“Isn’t there anything I can do?” Dr. Coomer finally asked him. “I could talk to the administrator, we could—”</p><p>“No!” Bubby blurted out. “No, no, I’m not supposed to tell anyone who I am. If you let anyone know that I told you I’m a Black Mesa project, they might put me back in containment for good. I only told you because...I...wanted you to understand.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer frowned, squeezing Bubby’s hand tighter. “Surely, there must be <em> something </em> we can do though, right?”</p><p>Bubby shook his head feverishly. “No, no, Dr. Coomer. I don’t want to risk it. If anybody knows I told you, I might never get to...leave the lab again.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer nodded slowly. “...Okay.”</p><p>They were quiet for a long moment, something stirring in Bubby’s chest as they just stared at each other. Bubby never made eye contact with anyone this long, but for some reason, he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dr. Coomer. Then, Dr. Coomer cleared his throat, suddenly pulling away from Bubby entirely. Bubby wanted to grab Dr. Coomer’s hands, pull them back in, but he restrained himself and cleared his throat as well.</p><p>“Perhaps we can just...spend the weekend together here instead, then.” Dr. Coomer suggested.</p><p>“Yeah.” Bubby agreed. “...I’d like that.”</p><p>****</p><p>Bubby expected it to be awkward after that conversation. He’d just told Dr. Coomer highly confidential information—that he wasn’t a real human and how he’d never been outside Black Mesa before—but if Dr. Coomer felt at all strange about that, he never let it show. To Bubby’s extreme relief, they were able to continue on as normal, finding little ways to entertain themselves with their spare time. This included a little project of Dr. Coomer’s, the foundation of something <em> definitely </em> not allowed by Black Mesa policy: an underground boxing ring in one of the old defunct lab spaces. It was really only a couple other rambunctious scientists needing something to get their adrenaline running like Dr. Coomer, but their shared energy as Bubby stepped into the room for the first time made for an intense vibe. Dr. Coomer was showing off his boxing gloves to the other scientists, his tie and lab coat removed and the sleeves of his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt rolled up to his biceps. Bubby averted his eyes immediately, looking anywhere but Dr. Coomer as he remained by the door silently.</p><p>Eventually, Dr. Coomer finally noticed Bubby’s presence and beckoned him over. Bubby shuffled into the room, fiddling with his tie now that everyone was looking at him.</p><p>“This is my lab partner, Dr. Bubby!” Dr. Coomer introduced enthusiastically.</p><p>“If you kill each other down here, I’m not doing anything about it.” Bubby grumbled, crossing his arms uncomfortably.</p><p>The group laughed at that, and after some excitable conversation, Bubby stepped to the side again and watched them get to boxing. Dr. Coomer removed his dress shirt entirely, leaving him in just the slacks, an undershirt—also having changed out of his binder in favor of a sports bra to protect his ribs—and his boxing gloves as he squared up against another scientist. For some entirely inexplicable reason, Bubby felt like he was two seconds away from catching on fire—something he hadn’t accidentally done to himself since he first got out of the tube. Did he just fucking hate boxing for some reason? The feeling that overcame him was anger, right? No, no, that wasn’t it. It was something else, a feeling he actually enjoyed<em> . </em> For however all-consuming it was, he could stand there forever watching Dr. Coomer, who was easily overpowering the scientist he’d just started a fight with. Once the other scientist was knocked down, everyone else began to applaud—Bubby included, perhaps much too enthusiastically—before another one stepped up for a turn against Dr. Coomer.</p><p>“Get his ass, Coomer!!” Bubby shouted aggressively.</p><p>Dr. Coomer grinned, winking at Bubby before falling into a fighting stance again. Bubby clutched his chest as that overwhelming feeling surged through him again, like it had been shot directly through his heart and now infiltrated his whole body through his bloodstream. It left him warm all over and dizzyingly excited. What <em> was </em> that? A snicker forced its way out of him as he uncontrollably flapped his hands down at his sides. He’d <em> never </em> done that before, but he couldn’t stop himself, now.</p><p>Soon, Dr. Coomer had won against every other scientist in their makeshift ring. The other weaker scientists insisted they were tired after Dr. Coomer demanded rematches, each slowly taking their leave until it was just Bubby and Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer held his boxing gloves loosely to his side, chugging a bottle of water as Bubby approached.</p><p>“I...didn’t realize how strong you were.” Bubby commented awkwardly.</p><p>Dr. Coomer beamed at him. “Oh, it felt so good to let loose again after so long! I just wish it had been more of a challenge, is all.”</p><p>Bubby tapped the tip of his shoe against the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well...maybe...you could show me how to...”</p><p>He faltered at the end of his sentence, stopping entirely and looking away in embarrassment. By the time he glanced back up at Dr. Coomer, he was met by a gigantic smile as Dr. Coomer flapped excitedly.</p><p>“I would <em> love </em> to show you how to box, Bubby!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. He took his boxing gloves, handing them to Bubby. “Here, put these on.”</p><p>Bubby slipped them on over his hands, weighing them experimentally once they were on. The insides were gross and sweaty after Dr. Coomer’s use, and Dr. Coomer had to tighten them over Bubby’s bony wrists, but once they were on correctly, Bubby didn’t <em> hate </em>it.</p><p>“Okay, now I want you to imagine you’re about to kick someone.” Dr. Coomer instructed. “Which leg would you use?”</p><p>“R-right?”</p><p>“Then take a step back with your right leg, like this.” Dr. Coomer said, sliding his right foot far behind him and bending his knees slightly.</p><p>Bubby copied what Dr. Coomer did, and Dr. Coomer gave him a million and one more pointers on his stance until he was satisfied with it. Then, he showed him proper punching form. Dr. Coomer provided plenty of examples as Bubby tried to perfect it, but Dr. Coomer stopped suddenly, sucking in air through his gritted teeth and drawing his arm close to his chest.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Bubby asked, placing a gloved hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder.</p><p>Dr. Coomer nodded, carefully extending his elbow and wincing before he relaxed again. “I’m alright, Bubby, thank you! No need to worry about me.”</p><p>“Are you sure? Maybe we should stop.”</p><p>“It’s alright! It was just a subluxation.” Dr. Coomer explained dismissively. “I’m just a little rusty. My passion for boxing and my EDS don’t always agree with one another, but it’s okay. Once I get back into the habit and my muscles get a little stronger around my joints again, it shouldn’t be so bad.”</p><p>“Well...don’t hurt yourself on my account.”</p><p>“Alright, then punch me.”</p><p>Bubby froze in surprise for a second. “Wh—”</p><p>Dr. Coomer held up his palms, facing towards Bubby like he was expecting high fives. “Come on, punch me!”</p><p>“I’m not going to punch you right after you just hurt yourself!” Bubby argued.</p><p>“I want you to punch me! Give it all you’ve got!” Dr. Coomer insisted with a massive smile.</p><p>“Alright, fine.” Bubby huffed. He clumsily slid into the stance that Dr. Coomer had showed him before throwing a few highly restrained punches into Dr. Coomer’s palms.</p><p>Just like the stance, it took a little while until Dr. Coomer was satisfied with Bubby’s efforts. Dr. Coomer congratulated him on doing so well, beginning to gather up his belongings. Bubby frowned, something screaming inside him—he couldn’t let this moment end just yet.</p><p>“Well, you could show me how to block, too.” Bubby suggested anxiously.</p><p>Dr. Coomer smiled, but he shook his head. “Well, we don’t have enough gloves, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”</p><p>“You think you can hurt me? I’m the perfect life form!” Bubby boasted, face flushing in embarrassment the minute the words came out of his mouth. “Come on, I wanna be up to speed for the next meeting.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer snorted. “Oh, alright. Give me my gloves back, and I’ll show you more basics.”</p><p>Once Dr. Coomer’s gloves had been returned to him, the two of them fell into their stances again. He instructed Bubby to try punching him, which he blocked easily, showing him the best form for blocking straight punches. Once he was sure Bubby got it, he announced it was Bubby’s turn to try. “Now, I’m going to punch lightly, but let me know if it’s too much.”</p><p>“Pssh. Alright, if you’re a coward.” Bubby goaded.</p><p>Dr. Coomer rolled his eyes playfully and punched lightly as promised, which Bubby blocked clumsily. As he got a little better at it, Dr. Coomer began grinning, punching a little bit harder. Bubby couldn’t help but smile back—Dr. Coomer’s enthusiasm was just impossibly infectious. As he got lost in the sight of Dr. Coomer’s smile, the cogs in his brain stopped turning momentarily, just long enough for a completely expected punch to catch him off guard. The force knocked Bubby’s fist back into his own face, right into his nose. Bubby stumbled back in shock, putting a hand to his face.</p><p>“Oh, no!” Dr. Coomer blurted out, tossing his gloves aside and gently taking Bubby’s hand that covered his nose. “I’m so sorry, Bubby, I just got excited! Are you okay? Let me see.”</p><p>“I-I’m fine.” Bubby insisted as Dr. Coomer pulled his hand aside, putting his other hand to Bubby’s jaw and tilting his head to inspect the damage. Bubby’s face went hot, the feeling of just <em> barely </em> keeping contained enough not to catch on fire returning in a flood as he looked at Dr. Coomer. All his other reassurances he had wanted to give melted away in his head.</p><p>“...Yeah, it looks okay.” Dr. Coomer assessed.</p><p>His eyes locked with Bubby’s after that, and despite the need for such close proximity having passed, he didn’t move an inch. Dr. Coomer slowly released Bubby’s hand to place it on the other side of his face. Suddenly, as Dr. Coomer’s gaze moved down to Bubby’s lips, Bubby understood what this feeling was in an epiphany that nearly made him scream in surprise as though it had just snuck up behind him.</p><p>He was in love with Dr. Coomer.</p><p>Oh, fuck. He couldn’t be in love with Dr. Coomer. He wanted desperately to deny it, but the feeling was so intense, it was completely impossible to ignore. His heart pounded in his chest, butterflies filled his stomach, Dr. Coomer’s calloused hands on his face was the best, most wonderful feeling he’d ever experienced in his life—it completely overtook him, making him want to flap and shout and jump to vent <em> some </em> of his emotions, but he was completely frozen in place.</p><p>“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer said.</p><p>“Yeah?” Bubby breathed.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p>Bubby’s breath caught in his throat. Something surged in his chest, and—</p><p>There was a bright flash of light, and Dr. Coomer let out a yelp of surprise, backing away as Bubby burst into flames.</p><p>“Oh my god, Bubby, you’re on fire!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed.</p><p>“I-it’s okay!” Bubby reassured him, frantically patting his clothes to try and suffocate the flames. “It doesn’t hurt, it’ll go away in a second. Are you okay?”</p><p>Dr. Coomer scooped up a stray towel and threw it over Bubby’s head, helping pat the flames down with it. Once the last of the flames were gone, Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh of relief.</p><p>“What <em> was </em> that?” He questioned.</p><p>“I—I have pyrokinesis. It’s not a big deal.” Bubby huffed. “I usually have good control over it, but if I get overwhelmed...”</p><p>“Was it because I...?”</p><p>Bubby’s face felt hot again as he pushed up his glasses on his face. “M-maybe.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer let out a loud, surprised laugh. “I’m sorry, Bubby, if I’d known—”</p><p>“It’s fine!” Bubby snapped in embarrassment.</p><p>“Well...” Dr. Coomer paused, beginning to twirl his hair around his fingers anxiously. “I suppose in any case, now is as good a time as any to tell you...how I feel about you.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck.” Bubby said impulsively. “I-I know, Dr. Coomer, don’t say it or I’ll catch on fire again.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer snorted. “Okay, I won’t, then.”</p><p>A long silence fell over them as Bubby thought hard about what to say next. He wanted to tell him he loved him—he had for a long time, now, he realized. But the last time they had nearly kissed that night on Dr. Coomer’s couch—and it was only just hitting him <em> that </em> was what had been happening—loomed over him. He had just told him about how he could never leave Black Mesa. He belonged to the facility.</p><p>“...Do you...feel the same about me?” Dr. Coomer pressed gently.</p><p>“I...I can’t.” Bubby muttered.</p><p>Dr. Coomer clasped his hands in front of him, fiddling with his thumbs and nodding. “O-okay. I understand.”</p><p>Bubby didn’t <em> have </em> to explain himself. He knew that. Surely, Dr. Coomer already understood, but despite what Bubby was sure were Dr. Coomer’s best efforts, he looked so disappointed. Bubby decided, even though he didn’t have to, he wanted to explain. He needed to give him a definitive response to his feelings, despite how badly he wanted to simply run away to hide in his dorm until his feelings for him went away.</p><p>“I’m...sorry.” Bubby began, tracing his fingers along the seams on his tie. “I—I think I...I <em> do </em> feel the same way, but...I belong to Black Mesa. I wouldn’t want you to be stuck here with me. You deserve better than that.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer bit his lip, looking down and nodding again. “I know, Bubby. I just...wish it didn’t have to be this way.”</p><p>Bubby frowned, crossing his arms tightly. “...Me, too.”</p><p>After a long, awkward silence, Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh and picked up his shirt, throwing it back on over his shoulders. “It’s, um, getting late...”</p><p>Bubby nodded. “Right. Uh, do you want to go back to the dorms together?”</p><p>“Yes, of course!”</p><p>The walk back to the dorms was silent. The only words they exchanged at all were brief goodnights, promises to see each other Monday before they parted ways back to their own rooms. Bubby shut the door behind him and finally let out a deep, agonized sigh, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. The very moment he finally came to terms with his feelings, he had to reject Dr. Coomer—of fucking course. That <em> would </em> happen to him, wouldn’t it?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bubby had wanted things to simply return to normal after that, but the days following the rejection had that same awkward air looming over them constantly. All casual contact that Dr. Coomer normally initiated was gone, and their interactions were always tinged with anxiety. Was he going too far when he wanted to tease Dr. Coomer? Bubby wondered. Was it too much to joke around with him? Did Dr. Coomer need space? He wanted to just ask him, but at the same time, it felt as though there was an impenetrable wall between them that Bubby just couldn’t cross. He didn’t want to be needy, but he didn’t want to cross any lines with him, either—god, he was so bad at this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The awkward feelings did pass, at least, even if they didn’t return to being as close as they had been before. They settled into a new, slightly emotionally distant normal. It was for the best, Bubby reassured himself. Putting a healthy, friendly distance between them was good—how could he expect to get past his feelings for him if they stayed so close? Even with that rationalization, though, this change just filled Bubby with a deeper longing than he had ever faced before. He could have stayed like that with Dr. Coomer forever, but...well, that wouldn’t have been fair to him. He had to let him go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was easier said than done, of course. Much more so than Bubby had ever expected. Tried as he might, </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> came and went, and his feelings never went away. If his journey to moving past his feelings was a climb up a rock wall, Bubby would be so close to the top; he could see it, maybe he’d even begun to push himself up over the edge after months and months of climbing, then Dr. Coomer would do something—give him a friendly pat on the back, wear his hair particularly nicely one day, laugh so hard at one of Bubby’s jokes he nearly passed out—and Bubby would plunge right back to the bottom. He’d have to begin the climb all over again. It was so horrible, so painful, but so wonderful all at the same time. How could a feeling so overwhelmingly positive hurt so much?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just like any other certified employee of Black Mesa, it wasn’t abnormal for Dr. Coomer to leave the facility for a little while to take advantage of soon-expiring vacation or sick days. Despite the aching longing to follow after him, Bubby had come to terms with these periods of separation long ago—he wouldn’t want Dr. Coomer to spend his vacation locked up in the facility, after all; he deserved to go out and enjoy himself in open air. Besides, the distance always did Bubby some good. It put things into perspective, encouraged him to talk to other scientists for once. Nonetheless, the day Dr. Coomer returned from one of his vacations, it took every ounce of self control Bubby could muster to not crowd him and demand his undivided attention as soon as he approached him at the tram stop. Dr. Coomer gave him a warm smile and an enthusiastic wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Bubby!” He greeted kindly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re back.” Bubby said casually, as if he hadn’t been counting the hours until he’d see him again. “How was your vacation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer beamed at Bubby. “It was fantastic! I got you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby looked down curiously at Dr. Coomer’s messenger back as he rifled through it, producing a long black box with a handle and holding it out to Bubby. Bubby accepted it, unlatching it to open it tentatively. Inside was a folded handheld telescope, nestled comfortably in a divot in the protective foam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve seemed to enjoy our stargazing so much, so I thought you might enjoy your own telescope.” Dr. Coomer explained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s stomach twisted as he closed the box, holding it close to his chest. “It’s...adequate. Thank you, Dr. Coomer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer grinned as though he’d just received the highest praise. “I also reconnected with an old college friend while I was out. I think you two would get along swimmingly! I was hoping to use one of my visitor passes so you two could meet. I-I mean, if you’d like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby gripped the case tightly in his hands. “Oh. Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! She was the one who recommended that telescope, actually. She studied astrophysics while we were in college, and is now working for Aperture Science. She’s in the area scouting out a job, and—oh, well, maybe I shouldn’t say too much.” Dr. Coomer stopped himself, looking to the distance as the tram approached. “In any case, she reminds me a lot of you, actually. Her name is Veronica. I think you would like her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I...suppose meeting a fellow scientist in a similar field of study wouldn’t be terrible.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two proceeded as normal for a few days, until the weekend came and Dr. Coomer invited Bubby for dinner with Veronica. She was certainly the cold and pragmatic type, if that was what Dr. Coomer had in mind when he said she reminded him of Bubby; but it was impossible to deny that they had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dynamic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The “opposites attract” type, where her cold demeanor and his warm attitude balanced out into a palatable conversation to sit on the sidelines of. She was smart, too—they talked about space for a little while, Dr. Coomer beaming at them with his chin resting in his hands as they talked, and Bubby knew logically that she was alright. Still, when the conversation swayed back to something between her and Dr. Coomer, Bubby gripped his fork and knife tightly in his fists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus Christ, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> jealous. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to be happy for him—he saw the way Dr. Coomer gazed at her lovingly. Just a couple days, and he was already head over heels for her. No, that wasn’t right, Bubby thought to himself. He’d known her for years already. So had Bubby only been some cheap replacement until he got to see her again? He took a long swig of his wine, gently pushing his food away. Politeness aside, he wanted nothing more in this moment than to get completely smashed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Bubby made some hasty, half-drunk excuse to leave and headed back for his dorm. He followed up on his promise to himself and drank anything else he could find in his cabinets until he passed out on his couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few days went by of Bubby trying desperately not to be bitter towards Dr. Coomer. It didn’t always work, and he was certain Dr. Coomer noticed. Half of Bubby was desperate to keep his attention, holding onto their shared time with a death grip, while the other half grew cold and frustrated at anything Dr. Coomer did for him. Either he was nice to Bubby and he was filled with the urge to lash out—how dare Dr. Coomer try to make Bubby feel good when he knew how much it would hurt him to remember he loved him?—or he allowed Bubby some distance, and he laid on his kitchen floor, close to tears as he thought about what sorts of fun things Dr. Coomer must be up to without him. It wasn’t fair to Dr. Coomer. Bubby had rejected him out of necessity, he deserved to move on and be happy with someone else—but his emotions were so overwhelming, they threatened to tear Bubby apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby did his best to get himself under control, though. Any time he was snippy with Dr. Coomer—with actual venom behind his comments, unlike their old playful banter—he just couldn’t stand the miserable expression he would get. So he followed any trick in the book he could think of to calm and ground himself. After a little while, things smoothed out again, and he was growing more and more capable of hearing about Veronica; even when he found out she would be contracting with Black Mesa on some new confidential project. Even when she moved into the dorms and they saw each other more often, and even when Dr. Coomer announced with elation that they were now dating. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just breathe, just relax, just tell yourself it’s for the best, tell yourself it’s going to be okay.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was happy for Dr. Coomer—half of it was telling himself he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be happy for him, the other half was him genuinely starting to feel it. He’d never seen Dr. Coomer so happy before in his life, and he wouldn’t be this happy if he was with Bubby. He knew that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A lot of Dr. Coomer and Bubby’s time together turned into quality time with Dr. Coomer </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> his new girlfriend. Which was fine. That was completely okay—Dr. Coomer seemed to love spending time with both of them, and Veronica wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible</span>
  </em>
  <span> company. Still, every now and then, she would turn down the offer to hang out and it would just be Bubby and Dr. Coomer again, just like the days before she moved into Black Mesa. The two of them sat together on one of the roofs of the dorms, drinking cheap wine and looking up at the stars. Bubby held the telescope Dr. Coomer had given to him, scanning the sky as they sat in comfortable silence until his movements were too unsteady from the alcohol to hold it with the appropriate precision. He set it aside, picking up his cup again to take a sip and glance at Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So...how has it been going with Veronica?” Bubby asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer beamed at Bubby. “It’s going fantastic! I’m so happy she got the contract with Black Mesa. I was so sad she left after she graduated, and now I feel like the stars have aligned, so to speak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby gave him a half-forced smile. “Yeah, you’re very lucky.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them fell into another comfortable silence for a little while until a thought occurred to Bubby. He didn’t know many details of Veronica’s work, but a </span>
  <em>
    <span>contract?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Black Mesa didn’t normally have contracted employees. If she was still technically employed by Aperture...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happens when her contract ends?” Bubby asked impulsively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked at Bubby in surprise. “Oh.” He said, turning away and taking an uneasy sip of his drink. “We’ve...talked a little bit about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...And?” Bubby pressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it depends.” Dr. Coomer began, setting aside his drink to fidget with the hem of his tie. “Black Mesa could choose to hire her on as a full employee if her contacts here are satisfied with her work, in which case, hardly anything will change from our perspective. That’s what we’re aiming for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But if she doesn’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer frowned deeply at Bubby and rubbed the back of his neck. “...If she doesn’t, well...she’ll return to Aperture. And...I had a...rather promising offer to transfer there, should things go that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby impulsively gripped his chest, looking out at the desert stretched out in front of them—a desert he’d only ever seen from this perspective. It was so wide open and vast, bigger than Bubby could ever feasibly comprehend growing up exclusively within the walls of Black Mesa. The open space suddenly felt like a tangible force that threatened to tear him apart. His lungs began to burn as he realized he was having a hard time breathing, head starting to swim. He felt Dr. Coomer’s hand on his shoulder, which he immediately pulled away from.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, her contract isn’t up for a long time!” Dr. Coomer tried to comfort. “I’m sure that Black Mesa will want to hire her on full-time. She’s very smart and capable!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what if they don’t?” Bubby demanded, feeling tears stinging his eyes. “You’ll just—you’ll just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Just because she gets fired, you’d leave me behind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you go, I—I’ll never be able to see you again!” Bubby babbled, his voice shaking. He took in a sharp, gasping breath, which became another one, then another one—he was hyperventilating, now, anything he tried to say just getting stuck in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer said gently. He didn’t touch him this time, but he moved to kneel in front of him, looking at him with a kind, sympathetic face. “I don’t want that to happen, either. We’re working very hard to try and make sure she can stay employed with Black Mesa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s face burned hot with humiliation as he began to sob uncontrollably. He gritted his teeth, trying desperately to stop, but that was just as effective as trying to stop the water from a garden hose by squeezing the opening; his sobs just became more and more powerful as he tried to suppress them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby? Bubby, it’s okay.” Dr. Coomer said quietly. Bubby watched him reach out to him again, then decided against it and pulled away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drunkenly and impulsively, Bubby gripped Dr. Coomer’s arm with both hands, pulling it back towards him. Dr. Coomer rested his palm on Bubby’s shoulder, and Bubby pressed his face against his sleeve, holding his arm tight as though he’d leave forever if he let go. Dr. Coomer moved in closer, wrapping his arms around him. Bubby pressed himself into Dr. Coomer’s embrace and buried his face in his shoulder, shaking violently with sobs. They stayed like that for a while, Dr. Coomer rubbing Bubby’s back at a slow, comforting pace until Bubby could finally breathe again. He pulled away, wiping at his face in shame and hugging his knees close to his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Sorry about that.” Bubby muttered, his voice hoarse and exhausted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby...” Dr. Coomer started, then stopped. He let out a long, deep sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “I care about you deeply. I would never want to leave you behind if I could help it. I’ve put a lot of thought into what would happen if I had to transfer to Aperture—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, though.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby shook his head. “Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked down at Bubby’s hand and took it with both of his, running his thumbs over Bubby’s palm. “I...I care so deeply for you. I’d never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to just leave you behind. You don’t deserve that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stared down at their hands wordlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So if I have to leave, I’m not doing that without a fight.” Dr. Coomer went on. “Please believe me when I say I’d do anything for you, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby slowly pulled his hand away, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes again. “...That’s okay, Dr. Coomer. You love her. You should be allowed to leave to be with her, if that’s what you want. That’s...what we agreed was best, after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer got a pained expression on his face, going back to fiddling with his tie. “I love you too, though, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby tensed at those words, pulling his knees in closer to his chest and balling his hands into fists. It should have been reassuring to hear that, but it just felt like a punch to the gut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer repeated, his tone earnest but desperate. “I...realize this has been hard on you. I don’t want you to be hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby shuffled away from Dr. Coomer and stared down into his lap. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said defensively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, please listen to me.” Dr. Coomer pleaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby reluctantly met Dr. Coomer’s eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I care about you so much. I was only trying to respect your wishes when I moved on.” Dr. Coomer began. “I want you and her to get along, and I want to stay by your side as long as I possibly can, because I’ve never stopped caring. And seeing you in so much pain, I...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop!” Bubby blurted out, pushing himself up to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, nearly toppling off the roof’s edge, but Dr. Coomer quickly stood as well and grabbed onto him to keep him on his feet. Bubby pulled away harshly. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stumbled to the other end of the roof, where he clumsily lowered himself down to a tall rock they usually used for roof access. His foot slipped on an uneven part of the rock, and he tumbled to the dusty ground beneath it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby! Are you alright?” Dr. Coomer called, quickly following behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine!” Bubby snapped, dragging himself up to his feet and brushing himself off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby hurried back inside Black Mesa and to his dorm, slamming the door shut behind him and leaning against it. With a frustrated sigh that almost became another sob, he slid down to the floor, curling up against it and burying his face in his hands. God, he’d just fucked up big time. Snapping at his best friend while he was just trying to help—classic Bubby, but Dr. Coomer didn’t deserve that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was all that about him </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> caring, though? Was that meant to say he still cared about him as a friend, despite how mean Bubby had been towards him? Or did he still...?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby shook the thought out of his head and stumbled towards his bed. He couldn’t be thinking about this. Whatever the answer was, even if Dr. Coomer still loved him, he knew they could never be together—so what was the point? He flopped down face-first into his bed and let out a deep sigh. Well, if Dr. Coomer didn’t love him anymore, he most certainly couldn’t blame him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby had had a couple bounce backs already after awkward conversations. Dr. Coomer was nothing if not resilient, apparently determined to never let their friendship go if he could help it. And Bubby had decided he was going to put forth that same energy, so with their combined efforts, things returned back to normal in no time. Still, the implications of their conversation always nagged at Bubby in the back of his head, and every now and then, there seemed to be lapses of judgment on Dr. Coomer’s part—little moments just like when they’d first been growing close where he initiated contact in ways Bubby was </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to mean something. But he seemed so deeply in love with Veronica, too; he knew surely Dr. Coomer didn’t mean it, but the experience made him so agonizingly confused, he was finding it difficult not to lash out and demand Dr. Coomer just tell him the truth up front.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet he was fairly certain he knew the truth already. Dr. Coomer still loved him. And that hurt so much more than the previously held belief that Dr. Coomer had simply moved on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby survived that pain, though, and he began his climb towards moving on from Dr. Coomer once again. Veronica’s contract got extended a couple times to see whatever project she was working on through to completion, putting off that fear of Dr. Coomer leaving for a couple of years. As the contract’s expiration date began to loom over them with no sign of extension, though, Dr. Coomer’s behavior changed drastically. His work slowed significantly, he wasn’t nearly as excitable as he used to be, and during their spare time they usually spent together, he grew cold and distant. Bubby didn’t see him at the tram stop one morning and simply moved on, assuming he must have been running late—which had become fairly normal for him these past couple weeks. As he approached their shared office, however, he found the light was already on. He stuffed his keys back into his pocket, trying the door handle. Already unlocked, just as he suspected. As he entered, he found Dr. Coomer hunched over his desk, messy hair obscuring Bubby’s view of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, good morning, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby greeted tentatively. “...I didn’t expect you to be here, already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer finally turned to look at Bubby, dark bags under his eyes contrasted by a wide smile. “Good morning, Bubby.” He replied, approximately half the usual enthusiasm long drained from his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What brings you here so early?” Bubby asked as he set his folders down on his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I just couldn’t sleep, so I headed in to get some extra work done.” Dr. Coomer answered dismissively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby let it go, but he’d never seen Dr. Coomer this way. He looked exhausted and barely paid attention to his work at all, eventually falling asleep at his desk. Bubby let him sleep for a little while, but by the time their usual lunch break rolled around, he headed over to his desk and shook his shoulder gently. Dr. Coomer stirred, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking at Bubby in post-nap confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer, your snoring is going to fucking kill me.” Bubby told him evasively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back to your dorm, you’re no use to anyone like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But my work—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll cover for you.” Bubby insisted. “Just go get some real goddamn sleep or I’ll drag you back to your bed myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded and yawned, standing and collecting his things. “...Thanks, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dr. Coomer left, Bubby sat back down, pinching the bridge of his nose. Something had to be up. He’d seen Dr. Coomer the mornings after sleepless nights before—he always had that manic energy instead, still excitable but ultimately a mess in a completely different way. Clearly, something had happened between the last time Bubby had seen him and now—but what?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After finishing up his work for the day, Bubby spent a little extra time making a small gift for Dr. Coomer; not anything fancy, just a brace for his elbow for him to test out made of soft, bendable wire. He’d done a little bit of research on EDS braces a while ago, ultimately deciding at the time that surely Dr. Coomer may have already gotten himself one if he deemed it necessary, but maybe the gesture would cheer him up, if nothing else. As he approached the door, he could hear it: muffled arguing between Dr. Coomer and Veronica. He shouldn’t snoop, he thought as he stopped in front of the door—whatever it was they were arguing about, it was none of his business. He stepped closer anyway, pressing an ear to the door in hopes of hearing better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...take the job, we can stay here. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Veronica questioned, an accusatory tone to her voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, dear, but...not like this.” Dr. Coomer replied, exhausted but resolute. “I would do so much for Bubby, but there surely must be another—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, here we go again. You’d do so much for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but everything to do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> relationship is negotiable.” She scoffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s grip tightened around the brace. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> shouldn’t be listening to this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to consider the position he’s in!” Dr. Coomer argued. “I only treat this as negotiable because I know you still ultimately have a choice. Bubby </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave, no matter how much I would love for him to come with us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re sure not making it seem like I have a choice! It’s all about ‘stay at Black Mesa’, but as soon as I actually have a viable offer to stay, you suddenly decide it’s too far? After everything I did to get that offer? I did it for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Because I knew it would make you happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> too far.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Black Mesa works so closely with the military already, I fucking guarantee you anything you’ve worked on has been used by them. Why do you only get so uppity if it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> working with them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Maybe you’re right that it’s a bit hypocritical of me, but can’t you please listen?” Dr. Coomer pleaded. “I only want what’s best for all of us—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>All of us.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Right. No, I think you only want what’s best for you and </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me this, Harold. Are you in love with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dr. Coomer answered, a tinge of evasiveness in his tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why don’t you fucking appreciate what I do for you?!” Veronica demanded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things went ugly after that. Some details about the nature of the job she was considering taking slipped through—something requiring her to join the military to contract on a presumably permanent basis with Black Mesa. She grew so furious with him, and he only seemed to grow more exhausted by the minute until she was just on some long rant about how hard it was to give Dr. Coomer what he wanted while he remained completely silent. Soon, Bubby heard shuffling and footsteps towards the door. He quickly backed away a few steps as the door opened. His eyes locked with Veronica’s, and her expression quickly went from resentful to just barely passing as polite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Bubby.” She greeted only somewhat flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby didn’t reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica moved past him, headed back for her own dorm no doubt, but left Dr. Coomer’s door open. Bubby slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Dr. Coomer was sat on his couch, face buried in his hands—if he noticed Bubby coming in, he didn’t make any indication of it. Bubby didn’t say anything, just sat down gently beside him and tentatively placed a hand on his back. Dr. Coomer finally looked up, his eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears, but he wiped at his face and put on a forced smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see me like this.” He said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer, I’ve cried in front of you before because you said you </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave.” Bubby replied flatly. “Trust me. It’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed, the quiet, broken type that was combined somewhat with a sob. He wiped at his face again and let out a deep sigh. “How much did you hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Nothing.” Bubby lied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer gave Bubby a playful nudge. “You heard all of it, didn’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby looked down at the brace in his hands sheepishly. “...Well, I heard enough, at least. J-just take this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked at the brace as Bubby held it out, taking it gingerly in his hands and turning over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If the size isn’t right, I can adjust it.” Bubby babbled on, taking it back from Dr. Coomer and slipping it over his arm for him. Once it was over his elbow, he took one end of the wire and tightened it around him until it seemed right. “Is that okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer bent his arm experimentally and smiled at Bubby, grateful but still so heartbreakingly sad. “...It’s wonderful, Bubby. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just a prototype. I can make something better later, if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled Bubby into a tight hug, popping his back with the pressure he wrapped his arms around him with. Bubby’s arms were trapped down by his sides, but he managed to pat Dr. Coomer’s side awkwardly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s perfect.” Dr. Coomer whispered into Bubby’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby couldn’t help a blush that settled on his face as they sat there like that for a while. Soon, Dr. Coomer began to shake and sniffle—fuck, was he crying again? Bubby rubbed Dr. Coomer’s side as comfortingly as he could manage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh. Th-there, there.” He said anxiously. “It’s...going to be alright, Dr. Coomer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer cried for a few long moments before he calmed himself down again. “Maybe she’s right.” He sighed, pulling away. “Perhaps...we should just be grateful she has an offer at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...” Bubby paused, fiddling with his fingers as he thought. “...I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled at him sadly. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. I can see how that could be complicated...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s okay.” Bubby insisted. “...Why is it so important to you she doesn’t take that job?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer frowned, dragging his hand down his face before he spoke. “It’s...sort of an ethical thing, I suppose. She’s right, perhaps I’m being hypocritical, but that just...feels too far. Plus, I get the feeling it’s not necessarily going to be what she signed up for. She insists she can take it, and I tried to explain this to her, but that’s not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s less about what </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> can endure, and more about...the impact she would have on others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer stopped, standing to head into his kitchen. He returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Bubby asked him, accepting one of the glasses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll just have a little bit.” Dr. Coomer replied, sitting down and opening it to pour into Bubby’s glass. “Besides, I’m not nearly as lightweight as you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby scoffed, sipping from his glass while Dr. Coomer poured his own. “You never let me forget, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer chuckled before sipping his own. “As long as that offer stands, I’m...not quite sure how we’ll work through this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby was silent. He just couldn’t stomach the way she had turned it around on Dr. Coomer, telling him she’d done it for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so he should be grateful while disregarding his feelings—but could he tell him that? Was he biased?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been unfair.” Dr. Coomer went on, swirling the wine in his glass. “I only prioritized our work to stay here because I know she can take the pressure, and—and I thought she cared just as much as I do. I just wanted us all to be able to stay together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer talked for a long time about his relationship with her, and Bubby just sat there silently and listened. There were so many red flags, but how could he be sure he wasn’t just seeing them because he was jealous? Dr. Coomer had been so happy with her before, surely it couldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad. It wasn’t like Bubby knew what it was like to be in a relationship, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stay with her. I really do.” Dr. Coomer sighed, his glass already long drained and set aside. “I think I just...shouldn’t have pressured her so much. I don’t want her to feel like she’s trapped with me and what I want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, Bubby wanted to tell him to break up with her so bad. How could she be so cruel to him, making him feel like he shouldn’t have voiced his concerns at all? Still, he knew it had to be more complicated than that. He let out a quiet sigh. “Well...you’re a very kind and rational man, Dr. Coomer. I’m sure you two can work it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “...Yeah. Maybe she just needs another push in the right direction is all. If you just tell all this to her, I’m...sure she’ll understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer draped an arm over Bubby’s shoulders, pulling him in for a loose, friendly side-hug. “Thank you, Bubby. I hope she will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stayed with Dr. Coomer for a little while longer until he announced he needed some rest. Dr. Coomer gave him a tight departing hug before Bubby headed back to his own dorm, immediately dropping into his bed to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Veronica went on a short trip that weekend, surely to reconcile with one another away from the stress of Black Mesa. Or possibly where they knew Bubby couldn’t snoop. He spent that time alone, trying and failing to focus on work as he waited for the weekend to end. He wondered constantly how Dr. Coomer was doing with Veronica, if they were really working things out or if things were only getting worse. He wouldn’t want it to get worse for Dr. Coomer’s sake, but...well, he didn’t necessarily trust her after he heard that argument.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Sunday evening when Bubby heard a knock at his door—it was that same strong, rhythmic knock that Bubby had learned to associate with Dr. Coomer. He eagerly stood to open it. Just as soon as it was open barely enough to see him, Dr. Coomer shoved his way in, scooping up Bubby in his arms and spinning him a few times with an excited laugh before setting him back down, arms still wrapped loosely around his lower waist. Bubby’s face felt so hot, he wondered for a brief bewildered moment if he’d accidentally set his own head on fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—wh-what was that for?” Bubby stammered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Bubby, you were right!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. “I talked it over with her, and everything is going to be okay! We figured out a wonderful solution that’ll benefit all of us!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-oh yeah? What’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It turns out there is a Black Mesa hiring policy that encourages families to work together at Black Mesa—in separate departments, of course.” Dr. Coomer explained. “So, rather than taking that military offer, we—oh, goodness, I’m so excited, I can hardly say it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s blood began to run cold as Dr. Coomer snorted, pulling away from Bubby to flap his arms enthusiastically. Bubby forced a smile at him. “What is it, Dr. Coomer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, it’s absolutely fantastic!” Dr. Coomer blurted out, taking Bubby’s hands and holding them close to his chest. “We’re getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>married!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s forced smile grew so tense, it could’ve snapped his face in half. He couldn’t stop himself from gripping Dr. Coomer’s hands tighter, which Dr. Coomer didn’t seem to register as a negative reaction. He just bounced in place as he waited for Bubby’s reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s—that’s wonderful, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby managed to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dr. Coomer shouted, scooping up Bubby for another hug. “I’m so happy! We get married, we get to stay here—things can go back to normal!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m—I’m happy for you.” Bubby replied, voice strained from how tightly Dr. Coomer was hugging him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you so much, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer continued, setting Bubby down again and holding him by his shoulders. “Thank you for being supportive, and thank you for your advice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I...hardly did anything.” Bubby denied, looking away. “All I did was just sit there and listen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nudged Bubby’s chin back towards him to look him in the eyes—another agonizingly romantic gesture that Bubby wasn’t even sure Dr. Coomer realized the connotations of. Bubby’s chest ached as he looked at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I probably wouldn’t have had the strength to try again if you hadn’t been there for me that night.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “You didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do or say anything extravagant. You were there when I was struggling. That was enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby crossed his arms, looking away again. “...I’m glad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When a silence fell over them, Bubby glanced up at Dr. Coomer. His smile had faded, and he was staring at Bubby with a crestfallen look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—I’m happy for you!” Bubby stammered, reaching to put a hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder, then deciding against it and pulling away. “I’m very, very happy for you. Really, Dr. Coomer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled away from Bubby as well, as if he’d only just realized the contact could be a problem. He clasped his hands in front of him, smiling for him, but it wasn’t nearly as full as it had been before. “...Bubby, I was wondering if you would like to be my best man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s smile was so forced, he knew it had to be clear to Dr. Coomer it wasn’t genuine. It took every ounce of self-control to compose himself enough to speak. “Of course, Dr. Coomer. I would be honored. Except...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Except?” Dr. Coomer asked, tilting his head curiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...can I even go?” Bubby questioned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we were thinking of asking the administrator if he would allow you to leave for the day, under supervision, seeing as it’s a special event...” Dr. Coomer said thoughtfully, putting a finger to his chin. “If not, we could always have the wedding here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that would be miserable.” Bubby said impulsively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed. “It’s not postcard-worthy, no, but as long as you get to be there, I’d be happy getting married anywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well...I’ll try not to let it come to that.” Bubby said, finally capable of a much less forced smile. “It’s the least I could do, as your best man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled back. “Thank you, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby hadn’t made any special requests to the administrator of Black Mesa for a long time. He used to have much more regular contact with him, back while they were keeping a closer eye on him for research purposes; now, though, he plunged himself so far into work, he hardly ever had any reason to talk to anyone actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>in charge</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him. He stood at Dr. Breen’s office door, took a deep breath, and opened it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Breen?” Bubby called in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Breen was sat at his desk like expected, phone held to his ear. He held up a finger, saying a few more hasty words into the phone before he hung it up and gave Bubby his attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, Bubby, come in.” He invited, waving him in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby closed the door behind him and approached, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. “I, uh, wanted to request permission to leave the facility for a day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Ah. Straight to the point, I see.” Dr. Breen sighed. “I can’t permit you to leave Black Mesa grounds, Bubby. You know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you see, it’s a special occasion.” Bubby insisted. “My...lab partner is getting married soon. He wanted me to be his best m—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A wedding?” Dr. Breen questioned. “Now, Bubby, I would consider it if it was something that would benefit your research, but a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wedding?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Yes, a wedding.” Bubby said firmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s face burned hot with humiliation as Dr. Breen laughed. “I’m sure your lab partner will get on just fine without your presence there, Bubby. I can’t know what sorts of things you’ll want to get up to out there, or who might squeeze some confidential information out of you! You’re a top secret project! I wouldn’t just let someone take any of our other confidential projects out for a spin in public, would I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to run off and tell everyone about Black Mesa projects!” Bubby argued, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. “I’d only be there to support my friend! You can assign as many guards as you want to watch over me while I’m there, I don’t care, I just want to be there!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You want me to divert security funding and manpower to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wedding</span>
  </em>
  <span> just to babysit you for a day?” Dr. Breen asked him. “No, Bubby. Your request is denied. Now, head on back to work. I’ve got plenty of things to get done today, and I’m sure you do, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby slammed his fist down on Dr. Breen’s desk as he tried to get back to what he’d been doing, bringing his attention back to him. “No!” Bubby barked. “I’m not leaving until you let me go to Dr. Coomer’s wedding!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, Bubby, there’s no reason to get aggressive.” Dr. Breen said in a collected tone, hand moving slowly for his phone. “We wouldn’t want you to have to go back into the lab for tests to be run, would we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby growled, standing up to his full height and putting two fingers to his temple. “It would be a real shame if your desk caught on fire as well, wouldn’t it?” He retorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Breen hit a button on his phone. “Guards, get in here!” He shouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby focused hard, and in a flash, Dr. Breen’s desk was in flames. Dr. Breen cried out and leapt out of his chair, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the corner of his office and spraying the desk down as the door smashed open behind Bubby. Bubby turned just in time to watch two guards bustle in, guns pointed at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, don’t shoot him.” Dr. Breen said dismissively. “Just take him back to the lab, tell ‘em I said to run a full diagnostic and report back to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them holstered their guns and grabbed onto each of Bubby’s upper arms. Bubby wrenched himself free, utilizing his superior strength for the first time in a very long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t fucking touch me! I’m not going back!” Bubby exclaimed, backing away from the guards until he collided with Dr. Breen’s smoldering desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had his fingers to his temple again, ready to set something—or someone—else on fire before he felt a familiar sharp jab in his shoulder. He looked to his side, finding Dr. Breen injecting something from a syringe into his arm—he knew from far too much experience it was a sedative. He had a few moments of full lucidity that he used to set one of the guards’ vests on fire, but as Dr. Breen put him out, his movements grew sluggish. His legs quickly collapsed underneath him, and the unaffected guard hoisted him up to carry him on his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t...do this to me...” Bubby managed to say before the world around him went black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby woke up to a familiar, green blur around him, the sounds of the outside world muffled and distorted. His body had already long adjusted to breathing the perfluorocarbon, and tubes snaked under a hospital gown they’d put on him to connect to his back and stomach. He pressed his hands to the glass, watching as indistinct figures in lab coats walked back and forth in the room around him, saying things he couldn’t make out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby gripped his hand into a fist and slammed it against the glass several times, getting the attention of the scientists. He instinctively tried to form words, but the liquid in his throat and lungs made it impossible to speak comprehensively. He resorted to hitting and kicking at the glass furiously instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, please stop struggling.” A voice said into the speaker inside the tube. “You could disconnect one of your tubes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Bubby wanted to say, but instead he just struggled harder until his muscles grew exhausted from thrashing around too much. Too many years of experience told him it was useless; he finally resigned himself to just floating in there, complying with the scientists’ usual diagnostic requests. Eventually, two indistinct figures approached, too blurry to make out until one of them pressed himself up against the glass. A lump formed in Bubby’s throat, and he wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. It was Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the scientists handed him what he knew to be a little radio connected to one of the computers with a wire. He fiddled with it for a moment before Bubby could hear his voice. “Bubby? Bubby, can you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby didn’t react. He just averted his eyes shamefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, please respond.” Dr. Coomer pleaded, pressing a hand against the glass of the tube.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby frowned, slowly reaching out to place his fingers over Dr. Coomer’s palm and nodding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Bubby. I’m so, so sorry.” Dr. Coomer said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t realize it would lead to this, I—I just wanted you to be able to go outside and enjoy yourself for a day, I wanted your support at my wedding, I...I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby wanted to reassure him it wasn’t his fault, but all he could do was shake his head feverishly. Dr. Coomer was quiet for a moment, gently pressing his forehead against the glass. Bubby gripped his chest and did the same, the only thing keeping them from contact being the thick layer of glass between them. Soon, the other figure beside Dr. Coomer tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and they spoke for what felt like forever until Dr. Coomer spoke into the radio again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I have to go, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer told him sadly. “Come find me when you get out, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pressed his palm against the glass again, and Bubby placed his own over Dr. Coomer’s until he pulled away, leaving the room with the supervision of someone else in a lab coat. The other figure had the radio, now, and a voice that made his blood boil spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize you’d grown so close to your lab partner, Bubby.” Dr. Breen said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby flipped him off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He came to me with the same concern just a few hours after we had to restrain you.” Dr. Breen went on. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear the end of it after he found out what you did. Bringing him here to see you was the only way to get him to leave me alone! It was rather touching, really—but mostly annoying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby placed his fingers to his temples again—he knew it wouldn’t work, one of the tubes connected to him was responsible for suppressing his powers, but he reveled in the way Dr. Breen flinched back a little. Dr. Breen didn’t look too pleased as he continued to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know you’re supposed to be confidential. We give you free reign of Black Mesa because doing so benefits us. If it </span>
  <em>
    <span>stops </span>
  </em>
  <span>benefiting us, though...we may need to keep you contained. Telling random employees like Dr. Coomer about who you are just isn’t good for business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby bared his teeth at Dr. Breen and banged on the glass several times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down, Bubby. I’m willing to look past it!” Dr. Breen said in a tone that suggested he was trying to sound comforting, but it just came out condescending. “Just give me your word you won’t tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s fingernails threatened to puncture the skin of his palms, but he slowly nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Don’t forget your place here, Bubby. I can always have you put back into containment.” Dr. Breen handed the radio off to one of the scientists and turned to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby rested his forehead against the glass again, waiting a while for the scientists to release him. The tube finally began to drain, and all the smaller tubes connected to his body disengaged. He violently coughed the perfluorocarbon out of his lungs, bracing himself weakly against the glass until the liquid was drained enough for him to sit and keep his head above it. Once it was completely gone, he curled up on the floor of the tube, still coughing and shivering. He hadn’t adjusted back to normal air in a long time; he’d forgotten how fucking miserable it was. Finally, the glass slid open, and a couple of the scientists helped him up and draped a blanket over his shoulders. He was sat in one of the spare desk chairs off to the side until he was strong enough to stand on his own, collecting his clothes and changing before slowly dragging himself back towards the dorms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he reached his own dorm, settling to take a long hot shower first before facing Dr. Coomer. At this time of day, he’d probably still be in the office—but he wasn’t even sure he had the energy to make the trip all the way there. He picked up his phone and dialed the extension for Dr. Coomer’s desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” Dr. Coomer asked on the other end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer, it’s...it’s me.” Bubby replied weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. “Are you okay? Where are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m back in my dorm. But—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m on my way! I’ll be there soon.” Dr. Coomer hung up immediately after that, leaving Bubby with the droning dial tone. Bubby slowly hung up the phone as well and wrapped himself in his comforter from his bedroom, curling up on his couch until Dr. Coomer arrived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t even knock—he just burst into the room, sitting beside Bubby and throwing his arms around him to hold him close. Bubby didn’t hug back, but he gave him an exhausted sigh of contentment, burying his face into Dr. Coomer’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry.” Dr. Coomer told him again quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault.” Bubby muttered into his chest. “I lost my temper at Dr. Breen. That’s on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can see why!” Dr. Coomer said, holding him tighter. “He’s a horrible man! I nearly decked him myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby snorted, nestling more comfortably into Dr. Coomer’s embrace. “I would love to see that someday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just say the word, and I’ll do it.” Dr. Coomer promised, rubbing his back gently. “I’ll be honest, though, with your powers, you could do far more damage than I ever could.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ve thought about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They talked for a long time, Bubby finally telling Dr. Coomer what it was like growing up in Black Mesa while Dr. Coomer contrasted that with stories from his own childhood until Bubby fell asleep in Dr. Coomer’s arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wedding was to be a simple affair, considering they couldn’t be too extravagant on Black Mesa property. Bubby was the one in charge of getting the event set up as Dr. Coomer’s best man, getting a lot more enjoyment than he’d expected out of bossing other people around until everything was perfect. Members of Dr. Coomer’s family were there—not as many as he had expected, not even his parents, but he was introduced to a couple of his cousins and an uncle enthusiastically. Seeing him with his family was such a shock to his system; of course he’d have family, he was born on the surface the way humans normally were, but it was just another reminder of how different Bubby was. He made hurried excuses to duck back into event preparation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Other than just a couple stray members of Veronica’s family and some mutual college friends, that only left some coworkers to attend the event. It was a decent turnout with all the other scientists milling around, making it a little easier to hide in the crowd whenever he needed. Soon, time was running out before the event was meant to start—giving Bubby his cue to run down to Dr. Coomer’s dorm and help him prepare before he headed back up to stand on the makeshift altar. Bubby simply let himself in, met by Dr. Coomer peeking around the corner, not entirely dressed yet—he just had his slacks and a mostly unbuttoned dress shirt over his binder. Bubby averted his eyes as if he’d just walked in on him naked, closing the door behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer greeted, enthusiastic but a tinge of anxiety in his tone. “How’s it going up there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Bubby answered, watching Dr. Coomer finish buttoning up his shirt out of the corner of his eye. “Your cousins are very chatty. Just like you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer snorted, waving for Bubby to follow as he disappeared around the corner again. Bubby followed him back to his bedroom, where he had the rest of his outfit laid out on his bed to put on. Bubby leaned against the doorframe as Dr. Coomer shouldered on his suit vest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for helping so much with the organization.” Dr. Coomer said, standing in front of his full-length closet mirror to button up the vest and reaching for his bowtie. “...There’s only one thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In everything else we’ve been planning, I...I realized I don’t believe I know how to slow dance.” Dr. Coomer said sheepishly, fiddling with the bowtie in his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Slow dance?” Bubby echoed. “That’s easy, Dr. Coomer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby waved his hand dismissively. “Well, I’ve never done it, but I learned about it while they were teaching me arts and culture things. It can’t be that hard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby and Dr. Coomer were quiet for a moment, the same thought hanging over them heavily. Bubby took a deep breath and finally voiced it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...We have some time. I could show you, if you’d like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “I would appreciate that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby pushed himself off the doorframe, watching Dr. Coomer rifle through his belongings for a moment before placing a vinyl on his record player. Gentle humming began playing through the speakers—a song Bubby knew Dr. Coomer loved, Call Me Irresponsible by Frank Sinatra. Once he turned back to Bubby, Bubby slowly approached him. Heart racing a little, he stiffly placed one hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder, holding up his other hand for Dr. Coomer to take. Dr. Coomer complied, lacing their fingers together and gripping it firmly before slipping his other hand down to Bubby’s waist. Bubby’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he glanced at their reflection in Dr. Coomer’s mirror. Bubby had never worn a suit prior to this day, and he’d felt incredibly goofy putting it on at first, but stood like this with Dr. Coomer dressed up so nicely, he felt a deep pang of yearning. He couldn’t stop the thought before it popped into his head, threatening to crush his soul: this could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> wedding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t. He shook the thought out of his head and cleared his throat. “N-now, we’ll start out simple. Just step to the side...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby both tried to step in opposite directions. Dr. Coomer barked out a loud laugh, pulling Bubby back in a little closer than they had been before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Step to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span> first, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby told him irritably. Dr. Coomer obeyed, then they stepped to the right. Then left, then right. They repeated this for a little while until Bubby felt satisfied in their rhythm. “Okay, now if you want to turn...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Dr. Coomer and Bubby tried to move in opposite directions. Dr. Coomer snorted and pulled him back in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d better fucking take this seriously! You’re getting married in a few minutes!” Bubby snapped in a way he know only Dr. Coomer would recognize as playful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, professor.” Dr. Coomer teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t spend years earning my doctorate for you to disrespect me like this.” Bubby huffed. “Okay, let’s try again. Do it right this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer deliberately fucked it up a couple times, earning more banter, more laughter. Eventually, though, the two settled into a rhythm, going quiet as the music filled the room. Dr. Coomer’s smile fell—not in disappointment, Bubby could see, just content in the moment. His arm wrapped around Bubby’s waist a little tighter, pulling him in bit by bit as they danced until they were right up against each other. Bubby barely kept composed enough to keep dancing in time with Dr. Coomer, but once the anxiety subsided, their steps grew smaller, less jaunty, until they were just swaying their hips in time with the music. Everything else fell away around them; the wedding waiting for Dr. Coomer outside, the lab Bubby had been contained in for years, even the entirety of Black Mesa. The only thing on Bubby’s mind was this moment, the feeling of Dr. Coomer releasing Bubby’s hand to trace his fingers down his arm, then down his side before wrapping it around Bubby’s waist. The smell of his cologne, the way his long, soft hair gently brushed against Bubby’s cheek. Without even thinking about it, Bubby lowered his head until it rested on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder. Dr. Coomer didn’t react—they just kept dancing until the music stopped, leaving them only with static, and even then they stayed like that for a little while longer. It was only when Bubby’s wristwatch began beeping that he was snapped out of the moment, immediately pulling away and putting a respectable distance between himself and Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, we’d better get up there.” Bubby blurted out. He straightened out his own tie and ran his fingers through his thinning hair awkwardly, paranoid for a moment Dr. Coomer’s cologne had rubbed off on him too much. He couldn’t believe they’d just had an undeniable </span>
  <em>
    <span>moment</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that, minutes from Dr. Coomer’s wedding with someone else. He crossed his arms anxiously as Dr. Coomer rushed to finish getting dressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, god. Do I look okay?” Dr. Coomer asked as he fumbled with his bowtie. His hands had begun to tremble, slowing the process of tying it significantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby tentatively took Dr. Coomer’s shoulder to turn him back towards him, taking each side of the tie gently to tie it for him. He wanted to tell him he looked amazing, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life, anybody lucky enough to set eyes on him should consider it a blessing, and anyone who disrespected him would die by Bubby’s hand. “You look acceptable.” He muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer let out a tense breath, flapping his hands down at his sides. “Oh, I’m so nervous!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be fine.” Bubby reassured him, his tone not nearly as genuine as he’d hoped it would be. “I mean, I did all the hard work already setting it up. All you gotta do is go up and say a few words and look nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer snorted. “Okay, you’re right as always, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby finished tying Dr. Coomer’s bowtie, ready to take a step back, but Dr. Coomer stopped him by taking his hands in his own. Bubby looked up at Dr. Coomer in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...You look tired.” Dr. Coomer commented.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well—yes, I just set up your whole damn wedding for you.” Bubby said defensively, looking away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t let him go for a long, quiet moment. “Bubby...it’s going to be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby looked back at Dr. Coomer wide-eyed. He wanted to ask what Dr. Coomer was talking about, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His lip began to quiver immediately, a lump forming in his throat in record time. He hadn’t even realized how close to tears he’d been this whole time; he’d held himself together so well so far, but just like that, those few words nearly broke him. He took a sharp, deep breath, forcing down the sob that threatened to escape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Let’s get you up there.” He said evasively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled on his suit jacket and the two of them headed back up to the surface. A couple other people chastised them for being late, which Bubby immediately snapped at them for—it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>wedding, Dr. Coomer can be as late as he wants!—and they each took their places at the altar. Bubby stood behind Dr. Coomer, hands clasped in front of him as the cheesy orchestral music began to play. Dr. Coomer began to flap his hands nervously by his sides again, so Bubby squeezed Dr. Coomer’s shoulder, which seemed to adequately ground him before Veronica appeared at the end of their makeshift aisle. Her dress was beautiful, matching Dr. Coomer’s baby blue suit with black trim perfectly. Her expression was stoic—all the time Bubby had ended up spending with her and Dr. Coomer told him this was just a defense mechanism, surely she was just as nervous as Dr. Coomer—contrasted by Dr. Coomer’s gigantic grin. Once their eyes met, a small smile finally broke out on her face, and she began to walk down the aisle with someone Bubby assumed must have been a friend of hers.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Once she reached the altar, Dr. Coomer took a step towards her, putting a newfound distance between himself and Bubby. Bubby felt a stabbing pang of loss at the simple movement, like he’d just moved miles away from him in one single step. Bubby watched their fingers lace together easily, a comfortable, well-practiced motion from their time spent together, and his stomach churned—</span><em><span>do not</span></em> <em><span>throw up on stage, do not throw up on stage, do not throw up on stage,</span></em><span> he repeated to himself.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>He gritted his teeth, doing his best to keep himself under control as the guy behind the pedestal, what the fuck was he called? The guy who was dressed up like an asshole and talked for forever before he married them—he began to talk, his voice boosted by speakers set much too close to Bubby. He had a lapse of self-control, plugging his ears for only a moment before he forced his arms back down. His heart was racing now, and he had much too difficult a time breathing. He wanted to hop off the altar and run back to his room, but he knew he couldn’t; he had to be here for Dr. Coomer. He forced a deep breath into his lungs, then let it out slowly. It was going to be okay, he reassured himself—before he remembered those were Dr. Coomer’s exact words just a few minutes before. He nearly screamed in frustration and anguish right there in front of everyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, by sheer force of will, Bubby managed to keep it together the entire time, even during their lengthy speeches about how much they loved one another and wanted to be together forever. Even when the guy dressed like an asshole announced it was time for them to kiss, and Bubby had to watch them seal the deal right in front of him, Veronica dipping him low to kiss him. He clapped so violently that perhaps others might see it as extreme enthusiasm, but it was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to vent some of the horrible feelings that were surging through him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and his fiancé—no, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife</span>
  </em>
  <span>—stood there, foreheads pressed against each other lovingly and giggling as the applause died down. Finally, Dr. Coomer turned to the audience, letting out an ear-splitting, excited scream and ripping his sleeves off. Despite it all, Bubby couldn’t help but laugh—a laugh that almost immediately became a barely contained sob. He wiped at his face impulsively, taking a deep breath to steady himself, but despite his best efforts, the tears began to flow. He stepped off the altar as casually as he could, rushing to the lobby of the dorms and pressing his back against the wall to the side of the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You good, buddy?” The guard sat at the desk asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Bubby snapped, his voice shaking. “I’m just—happy for Dr. Coomer!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby slid down to the floor, curling up and hiding his face behind his arms as he continued to cry quietly in the lobby. The guard was nice enough to not say anything else until he was done, at least, and Bubby stood back up and wiped the tears away before cleaning his glasses off on his suit jacket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bubby threatened the guard before heading back outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby approached the crowd again, doing his best to look normal as he found Dr. Coomer mingling with coworkers and family members by his wife’s side. When their eyes met, Dr. Coomer smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby! Where did you get off to?” Dr. Coomer asked. “We can’t start the reception without you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, I uhh—I forgot my...speech cards.” Bubby lied. “I had to go back to my dorm and get them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we’re all ready whenever you are!” Dr. Coomer said with a grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded, taking his place up at the altar again, this time where the guy (the minister? Right, the minister) had been standing behind the podium to take advantage of the microphone. He tapped it a couple times experimentally, hearing the small whining feedback from the speakers. He cleared his throat and produced his speech cards like promised from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he set them out on the podium.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh—hi, everyone.” He said into the microphone, hoping to get their attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The attendees hardly paid him any mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wrote this whole goddamn speech, you all better shut the fuck up and listen to me!” Bubby suddenly shouted into the microphone. That got everyone’s attention—but now, he shrank under all the eyes scrutinizing him. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Dr. Coomer is one of the most annoying people I know—annoying enough to actually be so goddamn persistent, he became the closest friend I’ve ever had.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the front of the crowd, Bubby watched Dr. Coomer already begin to cry. His wife laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking back up at Bubby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And meeting Veronica hasn’t been so bad, either. Dr. Coomer seems to have a knack for dragging people like me and her into his social life, and normally I’d act more annoyed by it, but...I guess this is a special enough occasion to say that I’m...glad for it. I’m really glad to have them in my life.” Bubby went on, barely looking at his speech cards anymore. “If it weren’t for that, I’d probably just be holed up in my office today getting irritated at everyone else talking about some random party or whatever. So...getting to be Dr. Coomer’s lab partner is the best thing that could have happened. I’m very, very lucky that he was annoying enough that eventually, I’d get to see them be so happy together. And she makes him the happiest I’ve ever seen him before, which I really didn’t think it was possible for him to get any happier, so that’s saying something. I’m...I’m very glad to see it. I hope...” Bubby choked up a little, clearing his throat aggressively before continuing. “I hope you two have a long and happy marriage. Thanks for—uhh, for letting me be here to be a part of that, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby had so much more written out, things that were more befitting of a best man’s speech, but that was all his dumb, miserable brain would allow him to say. He tucked the cards back into his jacket as the crowd applauded, and Dr. Coomer leapt onto the altar to scoop Bubby up into a powerful hug, crying into his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was beautiful, Bubby!” Dr. Coomer sobbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-it’s not a big deal. Stop being such a baby.” Bubby scoffed, patting Dr. Coomer’s shoulder awkwardly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re my best friend, Bubby, I love you so much!” Dr. Coomer went on, still refusing to put him down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Veronica, come get your husband, he’s embarrassing me!” Bubby shouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She headed up to the altar as well, putting a hand on Dr. Coomer, and he finally released Bubby. Dr. Coomer wiped messily at his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m just—so emotional.” Dr. Coomer blubbered. He wrapped one arm around Veronica’s waist, then another around Bubby’s, pulling them both in for another hug. “I’m so lucky to have you both in my life!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby tensed uncomfortably, trying everything in his power to avoid any physical contact with Veronica short of just pushing himself away. “Yeah, yeah, you too.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer finally let them both go, and Bubby stepped up to the microphone to speak one more time. “Everyone stop looking at us and eat the goddamn food I ordered for you already.” He said irritably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone started mingling again as Bubby hopped off the altar to get more music playing, getting a healthy mix of people dancing and others sitting by and eating. Bubby dragged up an unoccupied chair to sit in alone as Dr. Coomer and his wife danced, drinking some of the wine set out as he watched them enjoy themselves. Once one of the slow songs Veronica and Dr. Coomer had picked out started playing, people either paired off or left the dance floor entirely as Dr. Coomer and his wife got closer. Bubby gripped his glass tightly, watching them take the same stance he had been in with Dr. Coomer before—one hand on her hip, the other hand holding hers to their side. They swayed gently, turning and stepping just the way Bubby had shown him, just the way Bubby had reveled in. It was hypnotic, and it left a deep ache in Bubby’s chest. Eventually, Dr. Coomer and her separated after the song was replaced with something more upbeat, and she moved on to dance with some of her friends while Dr. Coomer scanned the area for Bubby. When their eyes met, he immediately headed in his direction, holding out his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you care to dance with me?” He asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby sipped his wine before replying. “...I don’t like dancing in front of other people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’ve proven yourself to be a fantastic dancer!” Dr. Coomer insisted, taking Bubby’s hand and dragging him up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s stomach twisted, looking at the people around them in fear. He hadn’t expected Dr. Coomer to bring that up so easily—particularly not in front of others. “I—well, of course I am, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on! Just one dance?” Dr. Coomer pleaded, still holding Bubby’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby scoffed. “...Fine. Just one. But if anyone films it, I’m melting their camera.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby let Dr. Coomer drag him to the dance floor, where Dr. Coomer started dancing so poorly but so enthusiastically, it was hard to </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> get on his case for it. Bubby wasn’t much better—he knew whatever would be taught to him as a “cultural lesson”, but that didn’t necessarily extend to party dancing. Dr. Coomer took Bubby’s hands, spinning him around a few times and laughing loudly as Bubby complained. By the time the song ended, Bubby finally tore his eyes away from Dr. Coomer, realizing how many people had been staring at them. His stomach lurched at all the eyes on them, and he impulsively pointed at someone’s car parked nearby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, what the fuck is that?!” He gasped. When everyone’s attention turned to the car, he placed his fingers to his temple and set it on fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer scolded quietly, nudging him with his elbow, but he had a barely contained grin on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby snickered as the crowd moved away frantically to stop the fire. When Dr. Coomer began to chuckle as well, his laughter only grew, until they were laughing hysterically at what must have looked like nothing to everyone else. Bubby finally calmed down, settling into a comfortable silence with Dr. Coomer as the damage of the fire was assessed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m...happy for you, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby told him. “Genuinely. I’m happy you get to experience this with someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled at him sadly. “Thank you, Bubby. Thank you for being here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Clearly, it would’ve been a disaster without me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer snorted. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bubby woke up to a strong hand shaking his shoulder gently. Bubby groaned, rolling over a bit and blinking the sleep out of his eyes to see Dr. Coomer’s anxious smile greeting him. The room was still dark; he glanced over at his alarm clock on the nightstand—it was 3 in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer? What the fuck?” Bubby mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby pushed himself up on his elbows as Dr. Coomer turned to grab something big and box shaped, tossing it onto Bubby’s bed. “Come along, Bubby, get some of your clothes and other things you’ll need in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby stared at him as Dr. Coomer immediately turned to Bubby’s dressers, collecting random clothes and tossing them in like the world’s shittiest robber. As Bubby reached for his nightstand and put his glasses on, he investigated what Dr. Coomer had placed on his bed. It was a suitcase—brand new, by the looks of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bubby questioned. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on!” Dr. Coomer urged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby recognized this. He always got like this when he was doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to, most commonly when he got in the zone in his boxing club. He was running on excited, nervous adrenaline; Bubby wasn’t going to get much of an explanation out of him like this. Bubby finally stood, investigating what Dr. Coomer had indiscriminately put into the suitcase and throwing a few more things he imagined might go in a suitcase. Dr. Coomer disappeared into Bubby’s bathroom, returning with his collection of soaps and his toothbrush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Bubby, we don’t have much time!” He whispered urgently, pushing his things into Bubby’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were all wet from recent use—he wouldn’t want to just stick them in with his clothes, but he tossed them in like that anyway and wiped his arms off on his shirt. “Dr. Coomer, hold on—” He tried again to say, but Dr. Coomer cut him off as he zipped up the suitcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The guard at the lobby is distracted, but I don’t know for how much longer. We’d better hurry.” Dr. Coomer said, extending the handle on the suitcase and pushing it into Bubby’s hand. “Grab your keys, let’s go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby simply did as Dr. Coomer said, stuffing his keys into his pocket before Dr. Coomer grabbed Bubby by the wrist and dragged him out of the dorm, hardly giving Bubby a moment to lock the door behind them. They were running through the hallways now, up until they stopped just outside the lobby—where the desk sat empty, just like promised. Dr. Coomer shouldered off his jacket and threw it over Bubby’s head before they properly entered the lobby, Bubby following blindly behind Dr. Coomer before he adjusted the jacket over his head just enough to see in front of him. They ran outside, following along the side of the building until they turned a corner, finding a car parked beside the same formation of rocks Dr. Coomer had taken Bubby to the first time they stargazed together. Veronica was sat in the driver’s seat, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer, what is this?” Bubby demanded as Dr. Coomer took the suitcase from him and tossed it into the trunk with two other suitcases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going on vacation!” Dr. Coomer finally announced gleefully, opening the door for Bubby to sit in the backseat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—I can’t leave Black Mesa! You know that!” Bubby objected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, that’s why we’re kidnapping you!” Dr. Coomer replied, urging him into the back seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby sat down uncomfortably, jumping in surprise when Dr. Coomer slammed the door shut behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t just kidnap me!” Bubby argued as Dr. Coomer slid into the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We seem to be managing pretty well so far.” Dr. Coomer commented, shutting his door and pulling his seatbelt on. “Come on, Veronica, let’s get out of here before the guards come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby’s stomach lurched as the car launched forward. He fumbled anxiously for his own seatbelt with shaking hands, looking out the back window as Black Mesa began to disappear in the distance. He looked back out the windshield, watching as the endless expanse of desert rushed past them at a speed he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone at before. He knew cars went fast, that was the point of them, but this was too much for him to stomach out of nowhere. He breathed heavily, clutching the seatbelt over his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, are you alright?” Dr. Coomer asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you doing?!” Bubby blurted out furiously. “Stop the car! Let me out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica glanced back at Bubby as well, and the car slowed to a gentle stop. Bubby tugged at his seatbelt until he remembered there was a button he had to click—yes, he’d seen it in movies, he knew how cars worked—and opened the door, scrambling out of the backseat to stand outside the car. Black Mesa was so far behind them already, leaving him in a massive open space, the car acting as his only anchor. He gripped his stomach as his head began to spin. He couldn’t breathe, he was so nauseous, the world around him was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>big.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He stumbled forward a couple more steps before promptly vomiting into the dirt in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed, joining him at his side and rubbing his back until Bubby’s stomach was empty. “Bubby, are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Bubby snapped. “I—I’ve never left Black Mesa! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave Black Mesa! You can’t just—you—what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you think you’re doing?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I thought you might like to come with us!” Dr. Coomer said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, to your fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>honeymoon?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bubby demanded. “You thought I would want to go on your </span>
  <em>
    <span>honeymoon</span>
  </em>
  <span> with you and your new wife??”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer’s face flushed with embarrassment, as if it was only just now occurring to him how strange that was. “I...I didn’t want you to be alone. I wanted you to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> want?!” Bubby screamed. “You didn’t think to stop and ask me whether I would be comfortable with this? You didn’t stop to think how fucking weird this would be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t fucking take it!” Bubby went on, tears stinging his eyes. “I can’t fucking take the way you—you lead me on! Every time I think I’m over you, you do something like this, and I think there </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be something there, and I can’t fucking stop myself from falling for you all over again! You told me you moved on to respect my wishes, but I keep wondering over and over, did you ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> move on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer’s lip trembled as his hands balled into fists by his sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so happy for you!” Bubby shouted, his voice cracking and shaking. “I wanted you to move on and be happy! I wanted you to be with someone that wouldn’t trap you in Black Mesa like I would! But you keep doing this—you just—you don’t think about how I feel unless it’s—it’s just—about my feelings for you! You keep bringing it up like you can save me from my own fucking feelings, and then you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span> me like that! Even at your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking wedding,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you wouldn’t just let me go! The way we danced together, and then you trying to tell me it was going to be okay, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> as long as you keep pulling me in like that! I can’t do it anymore!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...” Dr. Coomer started, then he stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Bubby questioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer paused, biting his lip as his breathing grew ragged. He composed himself after a moment, shoving his fists into his pockets. “...Let us take you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Bubby snapped, circling around the car to the trunk. With some struggling, he figured out how to open it and dragged out his suitcase, slamming the trunk shut when he was done. “I’m walking back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, that’ll take forever!” Dr. Coomer argued. “Please, I’m sorry. Let us at least—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get out of here!” Bubby roared, pointing out in the general direction of where they’d been driving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby turned on his heel and started walking back, stumbling and clutching his chest as he noticed again just how empty the desert was. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself as he heard footsteps approaching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to leave!” Bubby shouted again, not looking back at Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to leave you out here like this.” Dr. Coomer said gently. “We’ll take you back to Black Mesa, then...then I’ll go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby opened his eyes again, stomach churning at the sight of the open world around them again before slowly nodding. “O-...okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby climbed back into the car, suitcase in his lap and eyes closed tightly as Veronica turned the car around. The drive back was short, and as soon as the car was stopped in that same spot they’d started in, Bubby dragged himself out on shaky legs. He closed the door gently, immediately turning to head back inside Black Mesa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby.” Veronica’s voice called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby turned around, watching her poke her head out the window. “You gotta close the door harder than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed, reopening the door to slam it shut unnecessarily hard. The car drove off after that, and Bubby just sat down on the suitcase, watching it disappear into the distance. After a few minutes of reflection, Bubby finally stood, dragging his things behind him as he circled around the building, finding a hallway window left open to squeeze through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t go to sleep that night. He only stopped by his dorm to drop off his suitcase, then immediately headed to his office to get some work done—anything to keep him from thinking about what he’d just said to Dr. Coomer. He got a lot done in the first few hours, fueled mostly by spite, but as other scientists keen to use their weekends to catch up on work began to pour into the offices and labs around Bubby’s, the sounds of other human beings began to nag at him too much. He set his glasses aside on his desk and buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t going to get anything done like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby gathered his things and headed back to his dorm to work instead, assisted by a couple mugs of coffee with Kahúla mixed in until he’d had so much, he couldn’t quite hold his pen properly. He passed out on the couch for several hours, only waking up at 7pm. There was something that always happened on Saturdays at 7pm...what was it again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby rolled over on the couch with a huff when he remembered. Boxing club day. Dr. Coomer’s favorite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do everything Dr. Coomer liked. In fact, that only made it worse—watching Dr. Coomer get so excited about boxing always dragged him back down the cliff a little bit. He could get his Saturday nights back now, do something more productive with his time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby had nothing else he wanted to do. And he could do with the socialization, even if it was all Dr. Coomer’s friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still about half drunk, Bubby dragged himself down to their meeting space, arriving about 15 minutes late. The rest of the scientists were having fun, drinking and boxing like always. Bubby tried to sit down on the floor, but he went down clumsily, and resolved to just curl up there in the corner miserably. One of the other scientists finally noticed him, giving him a worried, confused smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, what are you doing over there?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it look like?” Bubby snapped half-heartedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scientist—Bubby had reluctantly learned a long time ago her name was Beatrice—headed over and squatted next to him. “You doing okay, buddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmmgh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Beatrice pestered in him into telling her what was wrong, and just like that, he was sat on one of the few chairs they’d managed to drag down there, drinking a bottle of water someone handed him and surrounded by all the other random boxing enthusiasts of Black Mesa as he spilled his guts about his complicated feelings towards Dr. Coomer. They all nodded sympathetically as he told them how angry he was—both at Dr. Coomer and himself for being so upset, yet still so in love with him in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He just never lets me take a step back!” Bubby complained, glasses sat on top of his head so he could rub his eyes exhaustedly. “But what if I’m being unfair for wanting space like that? What if I’m just being an asshole about him trying to be nice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, it seems like he had good intentions,” Beatrice said, “but it sounds like that was pretty suffocating. I don’t think it’s unfair to want some space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other boxers nodded solemnly in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think if Dr. Coomer really does care about you, he would understand if you told him all this.” Beatrice went on. “He’s an understanding guy, just a little...dense sometimes. When he gets back, you should talk it out with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the very least, soon as he gets back, you could just ask him to give you some time first before you talk about it.” Another scientist suggested. “You don’t need him breathing down your neck while you try to sort out your feelings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby groaned a second time, burying his face in his hands. “But I still don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be apart from him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, I say this with as much love in my heart as possible for both of you.” Beatrice said sternly. “You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. He’s a great guy, I can see why you’re so into him, but you’re never gonna get over him at this rate! You need to like, get out more, meet other people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he couldn’t necessarily “get out”, but...maybe she was right about everything else. Bubby hummed thoughtfully, resting his chin on top of his fist. “...Maybe you’re right. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> need him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Beatrice said encouragingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bubby shouted, standing unsteadily. “You know what? I’ve been moping over him for far too long! I can do better than him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other boxers cheered for him as just like that, Bubby loudly proclaimed he was over Dr. Coomer. He hung out with the group for a little while longer until it got late, and they all returned back to their dorms for the night. Bubby curled up into bed, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. It felt good to just say he was done with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby still imagined what Dr. Coomer must be doing on his honeymoon as he fell asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the following week was touch and go. He had several extreme ups and downs as he proceeded with work, but by the time Dr. Coomer was meant to come back, Bubby was certain of what he wanted to say to him. He’d rehearsed it in his head countless times, slowly perfecting his speech declaring he was done with him until he couldn’t think of any other ways to improve it. It involved a lot of “fuck you”s, “fuck Veronica”s, and “I’m better off without you”s. Just as it should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby had half expected Dr. Coomer to stop by his dorm when they got back from their honeymoon, but that night, he received no such visit. He stood at the tram stop the following morning, hair meticulously brushed, clothes in perfect order—he was determined to show Dr. Coomer he’d done just fine without him, after all—but didn’t see him until the tram arrived. Bubby sat down, watching in the distance as Dr. Coomer hurried down the hallway. He only just barely made it in time, door promptly sliding shut behind him the instant he stepped inside. Bubby’s heart raced. This could be it. Surely, Dr. Coomer would have something to say to him, and Bubby could immediately shut it down with his perfect speech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer met Bubby’s eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment before Dr. Coomer turned, standing in the aisle of the tram and looking out the window instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that, everything Bubby had wanted crumbled away as his blood ran cold. This wasn’t how he pictured this going. It didn’t matter, the logical side of Bubby rationalized—if Dr. Coomer was giving him space already, they were on the right track. But what if Dr. Coomer was mad at him? Bubby shook his head to himself. What did it matter if Dr. Coomer was mad? The whole point was to put distance between them. Of course that was going to hurt his feelings. So—oh, fuck, that was going to hurt his feelings. Bubby went back and forth like that the whole tram ride, and once their stop arrived, Dr. Coomer stepped off ahead of Bubby, not even acknowledging him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, what, Dr. Coomer just got to nearly kidnap Bubby to third wheel during his honeymoon, and then he got to ignore him? Bubby seethed. No, he thought as he followed a few feet behind Dr. Coomer to their shared office. He was going to give him a piece of his mind for all of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they arrived at the office, Dr. Coomer stopped at the door, patting his pockets before awkwardly turning to Bubby, finally acknowledging him after all this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...forgot my key.” He announced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby huffed and pulled out his keys, unlocking the door and pushing into the office ahead of Dr. Coomer. They each settled down at their desks, Bubby struggling to get his thoughts in order. Was now even the right time to tell him everything he’d wanted to say? Or should he wait until the day was over?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them worked in relative silence, only speaking to each other when absolutely necessary—and even then, their interactions were tense. Dr. Coomer looked so exhausted, Bubby noticed, and most of his time at his desk was mostly spent drumming his fingers on the desk and humming anxiously to himself. Despite his frustration, after years of friendship, Bubby couldn’t help but zero in on that—what must have been on his mind? Was he just as torn as Bubby, trying to figure out what to say to him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Bubby didn’t want to know. Maybe he didn’t want to sit there and listen to Dr. Coomer explain himself. He didn’t want to set aside his anger just to listen to reason—he was furious, and he needed Dr. Coomer to listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Once 6 o’clock hit, Bubby opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as he watched Dr. Coomer stand and collect his things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Goodnight, Bubby.” He said, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby’s pencil burst into flames in his hand as he growled. He shook it a few times frantically to put it out, then tossed it into the garbage can beside his desk and buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t about to chase him down just to yell at him—did he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to yell at him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me?” Bubby demanded to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he was fairly sure Dr. Coomer would already be on a tram back to the dorms, Bubby packed up as well and took the next one back to his dorm alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next few days went on in a similar manner. Bubby and Dr. Coomer barely talked, and any time they nearly started, something would interrupt the start of their conversation. Dr. Coomer seemed absolutely miserable, even as Bubby watched him talk to his other friends. He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> this to weigh on him, but it did—even after everything, he could hardly stand seeing Dr. Coomer like this. On a Friday evening, as 6 o’clock hit, Dr. Coomer began to pack up his things again, barely acknowledging Bubby. Bubby stood as well, heading over to his desk before Dr. Coomer had a chance to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer.” He said, trying to hide the anxiety in his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked at Bubby. His eyes were sunken and exhausted, but the way he stared at Bubby, he looked like he was ready to hang onto every word, like he’d just been waiting this whole time for Bubby to finally say something. Bubby averted his eyes, crossing his arms uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...wanted to talk to you.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!” Dr. Coomer replied eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tone was perhaps inappropriately cheery, but he looked so tense, Bubby had to cut him some slack. Bubby dragged his desk chair over to sit next to Dr. Coomer, and Dr. Coomer turned his own around to face Bubby. Once they were settled, Bubby took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...figured we should talk about what happened. What I said before you left for your honeymoon.” Bubby began awkwardly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, since you left. And maybe this won’t change anything about...how we’ve been the past few days, but—I feel like I have to say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think...I’m ever going to get over you if we’re so close all the time.” Bubby continued, pulling at a loose seam on his tie. “Of course, I guess there are times we can’t really avoid each other, but maybe it’s for the best if we go our separate ways, otherwise. It just...hurts too much, being around you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer’s lip trembled, but he wiped at his face and took a deep breath to calm himself before he spoke. “Can I at least apologize?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby gripped his tie tightly in his fist. He didn’t want to hear it, but maybe Dr. Coomer deserved that much, at least. He nodded reluctantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer said whole-heartedly, voice cracking. “I never wanted to hurt you. This has been...I mean...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Dr. Coomer floundered, trying to find the words, Bubby stared down at a chip in the tile between them. Some inconsequential memory came back of when Bubby had been trying to steal Dr. Coomer’s coffee mug years ago as a joke, and Dr. Coomer had playfully pulled it back. They’d dropped the mug in the scuffle, and it shattered instantly, leaving that chip in the tile. It had been Dr. Coomer’s favorite mug, and Bubby couldn’t even make it up to him by finding a replacement for it—Dr. Coomer didn’t seem to mind at the time, but it was during that period where Bubby had it bad for him, worried any little negative experience could destroy their friendship forever. He agonized over it for days before he finally forgot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you don’t want to hear my excuses.” Dr. Coomer finally sighed. “I just...I want you to know how sorry I am. I don’t say that to try and change your mind, but...I’m so, so sorry for everything. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, I would do it in a heartbeat, but if you really feel that way...I can see if I could try to transfer to a different department.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby frowned deeply. “...Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby and Dr. Coomer sat there for a moment longer before Dr. Coomer let out a small sigh, standing up and scooping up his bag from his desk. Before turning to head out the door, Dr. Coomer gave him a quiet “goodnight” and left Bubby alone in his office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby returned Monday morning to find the door already propped open. Bubby stepped inside, frowning as he found Dr. Coomer hunched over a box, placing his belongings inside carefully. Dr. Coomer turned to look at him, seemingly instinctively putting on a friendly smile as he did so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re leaving already?” Bubby asked impulsively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded, turning back to the box. “Yes, this is the last of my things. I’m transferring to work in hazardous waste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, god, no wonder he was transferring so fast. That was the bottom of the barrel, as far as Bubby was concerned—there were always openings because it was a horrible department to work in. Bubby set his things down on his desk, trying not to let his reaction show through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G-...good luck in there.” Bubby managed to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Good luck with your work as well, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Dr. Coomer hoisted up his box, they stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Dr. Coomer set his box down on his now empty desk, approaching Bubby and holding out his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been nice working with you.” He said tentatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby slowly reached out, taking his hand. Dr. Coomer gripped it tightly, giving him a firm handshake that rattled his shoulder uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Same to you.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer scooped up his box again, kicking the doorstop back into its designated corner to let the door close slowly behind him. As the door clicked quietly, Bubby could practically feel his heart shattering in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to stamp down the panic that began to surge through him. This had been what he wanted, hadn’t it? He had told Dr. Coomer he couldn’t see him anymore, and Dr. Coomer had been kind enough to comply without a fuss. Why was he so upset?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby propped up his elbows on his desk, gripping his hair in his fists. This was what he wanted. It was for the best, he reassured himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he wanted?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby shot up from his chair, throwing the door open and sprinting down the hall. Dr. Coomer couldn’t have gotten far. By the time Bubby arrived at the tram stop, it was already slowly beginning to pull away—completely empty except for Dr. Coomer sat inside by the back window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” Bubby shouted. The tram was automatic, it wasn’t like it was going to stop for him, but it got Dr. Coomer’s attention. He stood, watching Bubby run with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby?” He called back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby gritted his teeth, leaning forward and putting all the strength he could muster into boosting his speed. He normally didn’t have much cause to use this power, but this was as good a time as any—he wasn’t going to go another second without apologizing to Dr. Coomer. As the tram pulled away from the station, he launched himself off the platform, reaching for the tram frantically. He only just barely managed to catch the edge of the window, dangling precariously off the end of the tram as it picked up speed. Dr. Coomer’s hands wrapped around Bubby’s wrists, dragging him through the window and into the safety of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, what on Earth are you doing?” Dr. Coomer asked, holding Bubby’s upper arms gently as Bubby steadied himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry!” Bubby blurted out, grabbing Dr. Coomer’s shoulders tightly. “I’m so sorry about everything! I don’t want you to go, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, I don’t—I don’t want to lose you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer immediately teared up, gripping Bubby’s arms tighter. “I don’t want to lose you, either!” Dr. Coomer sobbed suddenly, pulling him in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, I only wanted to make you feel better. I thought—you got so cold and distant, I thought I was going to lose you if I didn’t do something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, I’m so sorry.” Bubby wrapped his arms tight around Dr. Coomer, burying his face into his shoulder. “I’ve been such a dick to you. I should never have acted like my shitty feelings were your fault. I shouldn’t have blamed it all on you, I know you only wanted to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I should’ve just </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” Dr. Coomer argued miserably. “I should’ve asked if you wanted to come with us, I should’ve given you space—I just kept assuming what would be best for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Dr. Coomer.” Bubby sighed. “I wish you had asked, but...it’s okay. It’s not like I made it easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> wish you had just talked to me instead of pushing me away.” Dr. Coomer let Bubby go, holding him out at arm’s length. “...I’m sorry if the pain doesn’t go away. It...hasn’t for me, either. But I don’t want that to hurt our friendship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby wiped his eyes under his glasses. “I don’t, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled Bubby in for another hug. “I love you, Bubby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby closed his eyes, resting his head on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder. “I...love you too, Dr. Coomer.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer still moved on to the biological waste department, as the transfer had already been official, but they still met at the tram stop each morning and sat together until they arrived at Dr. Coomer’s stop, then walked back to the dorms together after work. They spent more time stargazing together late into the night, went to the boxing club meetings together, and Dr. Coomer would often visit Bubby’s dorm. The transfer had felt like the end of their friendship in the moment, but as they settled into new patterns, Bubby grew grateful for it—it gave him time to breathe, focus on other things before spending much anticipated time with Dr. Coomer again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It still hurt, seeing Dr. Coomer with his wife and knowing he could never be with him, but Bubby wasn’t willing to let that jeopardize their friendship ever again. He learned ways to regulate his emotional responses better and actually communicate his needs to Dr. Coomer for once, rather than just stewing in it until it reached a boiling point. It wasn’t perfect, but as the years flew by, Bubby learned to appreciate his feelings for him a little more. He cared for Dr. Coomer in ways he reveled in, ways he never got with anyone else. Their relationship, even if not romantic, was still something special to experience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There came times, however, that concerned Bubby. Dr. Coomer would spend more time in Bubby’s dorm than his own with Veronica for a couple weeks, even sleeping over frequently. Bubby tried to press Dr. Coomer about it, but he always insisted things were fine, and he’d return to his own dorm shortly after. There was one event, however, that told Bubby everything he needed to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer had arrived at Bubby’s dorm with his overstuffed work bag and a case of soda—usually the telling signs of him needing a place to sleep that night. Bubby didn’t mind, stepping aside to let him in and grabbing the extra blankets from his closet without Dr. Coomer even asking. Dr. Coomer smiled sadly as Bubby set them folded up on the arm of the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it getting that obvious?” Dr. Coomer asked with a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’ve never exactly been a subtle man.” Bubby commented, sitting down on the couch with Dr. Coomer and grabbing one of the sodas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to impose...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer, the only thing that actually annoys me about this is when you try to insist you’re ‘imposing’ on me. I’ve told you before, and I’ll only tell you this one more time: you can stay here whenever you need to, and I won’t give a shit.” Bubby prattled before taking a long sip, trying to consider his wording a little more carefully for what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanted to say. “...And, well, the fact that you never tell me what’s wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer set his bag down on the floor beside the couch, grabbing a soda for himself and leaning back. He stared up at the ceiling for so long, Bubby was starting to wonder if he would respond at all. Finally, Dr. Coomer spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love her. I really do.” He started, fiddling with the bottle cap in his hand. “I’ve known her for so long—I wouldn’t have even become a scientist if it wasn’t for her. I owe a lot to her, but...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer sighed again, setting aside his soda to bury his face in his hands. “We...had a bit of an argument.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I figured </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much.” Bubby said. “Do you want to tell me more?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed a little at that, resting his chin in his hand, but his smile immediately fell again. “It’s...well, she...has a lot of, um, </span>
  <em>
    <span>particular </span>
  </em>
  <span>expectations that are difficult to keep up with, sometimes. And when I don’t keep up, she gets quite upset.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer’s shoulders tensed as he smiled at Bubby, that evasive air settling over him that Bubby could spot from a mile away. “Oh, it’s normal things. I just need to put in a better effort, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer.” Bubby said sternly. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s normal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer’s smile fell, and he went back to fiddling anxiously with his bottle cap. “Well—yes, of course! I mean, it’s a little overwhelming, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re sleeping on my couch a couple nights a </span>
  <em>
    <span>month.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not that I mind, but don’t you think that’s a little abnormal?” Bubby pressed. “I’m not a relationship expert, you’re the one who’s married and all, but does it </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be overwhelming? Or do you think maybe she’s just being unfair?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer tensed again, looking away. “I...well...maybe you’re right.” He turned back to Bubby with a broken expression. “But I can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>give up.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I want to do better for her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But if she’s being unfair, then maybe...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, I know you mean well.” Dr. Coomer interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want to seem like I don’t value your input. I do! But I...I just don’t know if I have the energy to talk about this right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded slowly. “...Alright. That’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby left it alone after that, but alarm bells were always going off in his head on the rare occasions he would have dinner with Dr. Coomer and Veronica or see them interacting in the halls. Dr. Coomer almost always had that evasive, people-pleasing disposition he would get when he was uncomfortable—he barely ever saw any genuinely happy interactions between them anymore like when they were dating. Of course, Bubby would be there for Dr. Coomer whenever he needed, but it was even getting exhausting on his end. It wasn’t sustainable, he could see that from miles away, so what would give Dr. Coomer the push he needed to leave?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a long time since that night. They had more conversations similar to it in the years that followed, Bubby always trying to gently convince him that it may be time for Dr. Coomer to move on, but he never seemed to budge. Bubby leaned against the wall of the boxing club room with him, both watching another pair fight in relative silence. Dr. Coomer had been quiet that night; not unusual these days, but Bubby was already running through ways he could possibly get him to open up in his head before Dr. Coomer suddenly spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to box with me, Bubby?” He asked, a playful grin suddenly spreading across his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, would that get you to stop moping?” Bubby retorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moping? I’m not moping.” Dr. Coomer argued, already slipping on his boxing gloves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you are. You haven’t even knocked anyone out all night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer jabbed Bubby’s shoulder a couple times provocatively. “Keep up that attitude, and that’s going to change!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby rolled his eyes, setting his glasses aside and putting on the spare pair of gloves sitting nearby. “Fine, but don’t get all upset again when you lose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby still wasn’t necessarily a boxing enthusiast, but being close with someone always looking for a fight is a great way to learn. Dr. Coomer was considered the best boxer in the group, but Bubby was the unsung strongest out of all of them—not that it was a fair fight, of course, considering his superhuman strength that he rarely put into use. He always tried to find the line between using his power just enough to beat Dr. Coomer versus not using it at all and immediately losing; sometimes he’d win, sometimes he’d slip up and let Dr. Coomer win—regardless of how it wasn’t nearly close to Bubby’s true strength, at least Dr. Coomer seemed to enjoy it a lot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their match attracted the attention of the rest of the club quickly, as it normally did—Bubby never fought anyone else in the group, so they seemed fascinated whenever Bubby actually fought. The cheering distracted Bubby significantly, allowing Dr. Coomer to get in several hard hits against him. Bubby staggered back, and Dr. Coomer followed him, taking advantage of Bubby’s surprise to loop his arm around his neck and pull him down into a headlock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that about how I was going to lose?” Dr. Coomer taunted, tousling Bubby’s hair with his glove.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a bullshit move, and you know it.” Bubby criticized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby was just getting ready to free himself when he heard the door open. He looked up as best as he could, finding Veronica standing in the doorway. Bubby could feel Dr. Coomer immediately grow tense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah! Hello, Veronica!” He greeted cheerily. “You’re just in time to watch me destroy Bubby!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, I needed to talk to you about something.” Veronica said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “...It can’t wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, of course.” Dr. Coomer replied, the joy draining from his voice. He released Bubby and pulled off his gloves, following Veronica out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stared after them, straining to hear their conversation over the chatter of the other scientists. Glancing back at everyone else sheepishly, he approached the door, leaning against the wall next to it casually to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. Bubby frowned deeply when he heard Dr. Coomer’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He asked. His tone was so heartbroken—Bubby had only heard that level of misery when he had tried to break things off with him years ago. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me first?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I knew you’d get like this!” Veronica huffed. “Listen, Harold, it just makes sense. The pay is really good and the benefits are great. You’ll get some really good perks just for being my husband! This is going to benefit both of us!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> talked about this years ago! I thought you understood!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only agreed that the offers I could get from Black Mesa if I married you interested me more at the time.” Veronica said defensively. “And where did that land me? A shitty research assistant position? If I take this job, we might be able to afford our own house! Doesn’t that sound nice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the commute...the security checks every morning...” Dr. Coomer pointed out. “And...well, I know you’d be back eventually, but you would still be gone for so long! And how much would I even see you when you get back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harold, this isn’t theoretical, anymore.” Veronica replied sternly. “I already took the offer. And...I think the distance might be good for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not saying I want to separate or get a divorce or anything.” Veronica explained hastily. “I just think that...you know, you’re a little bit much to live with sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer said quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica sighed. “It’s not your fault. I know I’m hard on you sometimes. That’s why I think this’ll be good for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby dug his nails into the gloves harshly as he growled quietly. His self control was wearing thinner and thinner by the second—he was approximately two steps away from bursting out there and telling Veronica exactly what he thought of her. He couldn’t, though; Dr. Coomer would be upset with him if he did—but what if it finally shook some sense into him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?” Dr. Coomer pleaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harold. Again. I already took it.” Veronica said tersely. “There’s no going back, anymore, I already signed on. I leave for training in a week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer was quiet. Bubby had half a mind to try and peek out there discreetly, but he stayed put, waiting for one of them to speak again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, don’t be like that.” Veronica sighed. “This is going to be a really good change for us, you’ll see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...I’m going to get back to the club.” Dr. Coomer announced, voice cracking. “I’ll...see you later tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby didn’t even bother pretending to Dr. Coomer he hadn’t been listening, watching him as he stepped back into the room and shut the door. Dr. Coomer frowned when he saw him there, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Bubby replied guiltily. “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer shook his head, walking to his boxing gloves and pulling them back on. He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Bubby, you still owe me a match.” He challenged loudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer wasn’t nearly as playful this time as they continued their match. He looked deadly serious the whole time—Bubby contemplated asking if they should stop, but it looked like he needed the activity, so Bubby gave him a good fight. Eventually, when it looked like Dr. Coomer was getting tired, Bubby let him win, falling to the ground hard. He rubbed a sore spot on his lower back as Dr. Coomer helped him up with a tired smile, the other club members cheering for Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good match, Bubby!” He complimented, patting him hard on the back. After a pause, he let a little bit of his exhaustion show through for a moment as he took off one of his gloves to squeeze Bubby’s wrist. “...Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “Whatever. Don’t expect to win again next time, you caught me off guard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer chuckled at that before letting out a deep sigh. “Well...it’s getting late. I should probably head back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby pulled off his gloves, setting them aside as he watched Dr. Coomer collect his things. He followed close behind him as he left, tentatively taking Dr. Coomer’s wrist after the door closed behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer...” Bubby tried to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby—” Dr. Coomer snapped harshly, turning on him with a frustrated look. He stopped, taking a deep breath and pulling his hand away gently. “S-sorry. It’s not you. I just...</span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded guiltily. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked together in silence, but Dr. Coomer slowly took Bubby’s hand in his own, squeezing it tightly as they went. Bubby squeezed it back, watching Dr. Coomer out of the corner of his eye. He was staring down at the tiles, biting his lip thoughtfully—surely wondering what to say to Veronica. Once they arrived at the fork in the hallway they always separated at, Dr. Coomer slowly pulled his hand away again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Goodnight, Coomer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby watched Dr. Coomer walk down the hall, casting him one final glance before he disappeared around the corner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby barely saw Dr. Coomer during the following week. Bubby understood, of course; he was taking advantage of the little time he had left with Veronica before she headed off to basic training for the year. Any time Bubby saw him, though, he was so transparently miserable in ways he rarely let other people see, even during the particularly rough patches in their marriage. Bubby did what he could to cheer him up in the times he regularly saw him, which Dr. Coomer seemed grateful for, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The morning Veronica was packed up to leave, Bubby joined Dr. Coomer at his request to see her off in the parking garage. It was early enough to still be dark outside, the morning chill settling in Bubby’s bones as he stood beside Dr. Coomer behind her car. After her bags were tossed into her trunk, she slammed the door shut with a resounding echo across the parking lot, turning to Dr. Coomer and placing a hand on the side of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll try and give you a call when I can.” She told him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Dr. Coomer replied, pressing his palm against the back of her hand. “Drive safe, dear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica leaned down to hug him, and Dr. Coomer wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face into her shoulder and sniffling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be fine, Harold.” She reassured him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t reply. She pulled away from him, Dr. Coomer taking her by her upper arms instead and dipping his head down low. Veronica looked down uncomfortably as Dr. Coomer let out a quiet sob.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Harold, I have to go.” She said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded, slowly releasing her and wiping tears from his face. “I-I’m sorry. I know I promised I wouldn’t cry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica snorted. “It’s fine, Harold.” Bubby looked away, arms crossed tightly over his chest as she leaned down to kiss him for an awkwardly long time before pulling away fully. “I’d better get going. It’s a long drive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer tried to say something, but only a choked sob came out. He just nodded instead, and Veronica turned to Bubby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Bye, Bubby.” She said simply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, good luck, Veronica.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Veronica climbed into her car. Bubby and Dr. Coomer stepped out of the way to let her back out, then watched her slowly drive out the garage exit. Once the car was gone, Dr. Coomer melted down to the concrete, burying his face in his hands and sobbing uncontrollably. Bubby knelt down beside him, rubbing his back gently for only a second before Dr. Coomer threw his arms around him tightly. They stayed like that for several long minutes, until Dr. Coomer didn’t seem to have the energy to cry, anymore. Bubby helped him stand, wrapping one arm around him and taking his hand with the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They went back to Dr. Coomer’s dorm after that, Bubby leading him to his couch and hurrying off to his kitchen. The dorm was a mess—many of Veronica’s belongings she must have tried to pack before simply leaving them behind were scattered across most of the available surfaces, the kitchen was uncleaned, and many empty bottles of wine sat on their counter. Bubby poured Dr. Coomer a glass of water and returned, handing it to him before sitting down beside him. Dr. Coomer leaned against Bubby’s shoulder and closed his eyes as Bubby draped an arm over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s...for the best.” Dr. Coomer finally said, more to himself than to Bubby. “Time makes the heart grow fonder, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s lips tightened as he tried to consider what to say. Maybe the distance would be good for him, sure—good enough for him to realize he was better off without her, but he couldn’t say that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Sure.” He settled to say, not nearly as convincing as he had wanted to sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer sniffled again, and when Bubby looked at him, he found tears rolling down his cheeks. Bubby rubbed his arm comfortingly. “It’s...going to be okay, Coomer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded. “Thank you, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby had hoped that Dr. Coomer would bounce back after that, finally seeing that the environment he was living in with Veronica obviously wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t. His visits with Bubby grew sporadic, even skipping out on boxing club more and more often until it had been weeks since the last time he went. Bubby took it upon himself then to visit Dr. Coomer himself more, usually bringing him food he’d struggled to cook when he noticed just how much he seemed to struggle cooking for himself. He usually found him in his bed or wrapped up in blankets on his couch, barely responsive to Bubby’s attempts to get him up and excited about anything at all. Bubby sat on the edge of Dr. Coomer’s bed one evening, combing his fingers through his hair and letting out a deep sigh. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the phone began to ring in the other room. Bubby looked at Dr. Coomer expectantly, head barely poking out from under his blanket. Dr. Coomer didn’t even react.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That might be Veronica.” Bubby commented, trying to sound hopeful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer closed his eyes, turning to bury his face into his pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Do you want me to get it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stood, leaving Dr. Coomer to pick up the phone mounted on the wall. “Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby?” Veronica’s voice said, disappointment clear in her tone. “Is Harold there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhhhh...” Bubby looked back towards Dr. Coomer’s bedroom. “I can try to get him on, but he’s...not feeling well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby took the phone as close to Dr. Coomer’s room as he could, leaning into the doorway and cupping a hand over the receiver so Veronica couldn’t hear. “Coomer? It’s Veronica. Do you want to talk to her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer was silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby put the phone back to his ear. “Uhhhh...I guess he’s not up to it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veronica sighed deeply on the other end. “That’s fine. I mean, he hasn’t answered my calls in weeks, but that’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t sound fine. Bubby headed back to the phone’s mount on the wall. “Well, uhh, sorry to hear that. I have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Yeah. Bye, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby hung up the phone, then stepped back into Dr. Coomer’s bedroom and sat down again. “I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to talk to her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer finally rolled over to lie on his back, resting his hands on his stomach. “I’m...quite upset with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know I have to talk to her eventually.” Dr. Coomer went on. “I tried to keep up with our calls at first, but hearing about her training only made it more...</span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her attitude has changed so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Bubby muttered sympathetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just...don’t have the energy, anymore.” Dr. Coomer admitted. “Not just to talk to her, but...for anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Bubby said, taking one of Dr. Coomer’s hands gently. “...Let’s go outside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” Bubby stood, pulling Dr. Coomer up. “I’ll fucking carry you out there if I have to, but you’re coming with me, whether you want to or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby all but dragged Dr. Coomer outside as the sun was still setting, helping him up to their usual spot on the roof. Dr. Coomer took in a deep breath of fresh air, already looking a little more vital than he had been in his room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...How much longer until she gets back?” Bubby asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Six months.” Dr. Coomer replied with a sigh. “Halfway there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think...” Bubby paused, putting his knuckle to his lips as he thought about his wording. How does one just ask the man they’re in love with if he intends to divorce his wife without it sounding like they have ulterior motives? “...Do you think...maybe when she gets back, you should...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer put a hand on Bubby’s shoulder. “I know what you think of her, Bubby. I can’t, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby frowned. That annoying thought that had popped up more and more frequently in Bubby’s head, entirely against his will, came back to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I would treat you better.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Coomer...I hate seeing you like this.” He said instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked at Bubby with wide eyes. He stared at him for a few seconds like that before looking down at the roof, only a couple inches of it visible in the space between them. He looked close to tears, but they didn’t come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Dr. Coomer murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>apologize.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bubby chastised. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean—you deserve better than that. You—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dr. Coomer blurted out, curling up and hiding his face behind his arms. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I deserve better. All this time she’s been gone, I’ve seen how much better things could be if I just left her. I don’t go home and feel terrified, anymore. I can actually</span>
  <em>
    <span> breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, now, and that’s what’s so—that’s why I’m so upset!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t...think I understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...” Dr. Coomer lifted his head to look at Bubby again. Finally, tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I don’t think I have the strength to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby paused for a long time, struggling to find the right words. “I...know it must be hard, Coomer, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> believe you can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. I know you would.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, I wouldn’t think that for no reason.” Bubby insisted. “You’re one of the most stupidly resilient people I’ve ever met in my life. If I was in your position, I’d be going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled for Bubby on reflex, but Bubby saw past it—maybe he wasn’t going to get through to him like this, Bubby thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s very kind of you, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer said. “Thank you for sticking with me and being so helpful. I know it must not be easy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pssh. Making shitty pasta for you every now and then is nothing.” Bubby said dismissively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, I love you, but just take the damn compliment, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Fine. You’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t easy, but slowly, Bubby helped drag Dr. Coomer out of his rut. As the months went by, it grew easier to encourage Dr. Coomer to get to work every morning; he even began attending boxing club again, which significantly boosted his mood. There was a time a couple months before Veronica returned from basic training that Dr. Coomer was so close to his old self; still a little quiet and reserved, but at least he didn’t seem to have nearly as much trouble taking care of himself, anymore. Once that two week mark hit, though, he began crashing down again—and Bubby couldn’t blame him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby was in Dr. Coomer’s dorm, just three days before Veronica’s return. Sure, Dr. Coomer been healthier than right after she left, but cleaning had still been a monumental effort for him—with so much to catch up on, Bubby offered to help get the dorm back in shape over the weekend. Bubby stood in the kitchen, hastily scrubbing at long-uncleaned dishes as Dr. Coomer vacuumed the floor. Bubby wasn’t sure of the last time Dr. Coomer had spoken to Veronica; any time he tried to gently ask, Dr. Coomer had insisted he didn’t want to talk about it. He seemed so tense and thoughtful, though, constantly muttering to himself; Bubby could only assume he was rehearsing something he wanted to tell her in his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Dr. Coomer was done vacuuming, Bubby set aside the last of the dishes and shook the water off his hands. “Um, Coomer.” He said, wiping the water off on his pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked up as he wrapped the vacuum cord back around its hooks. “Yes, Bubby?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anything else I can do?” Bubby offered, fiddling with his fingers awkwardly. “Like, if there’s something you want to say to Veronica...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer immediately lifted the vacuum and turned away to stow it in the closet. Bubby didn’t say anything else, waiting for Dr. Coomer to come back and say something—even if it was to dismiss him or change the subject. When Dr. Coomer gave Bubby his attention again, he sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...don’t think you can help me with this.” He finally said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to leave her?” Bubby asked impulsively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer turned away again, occupying himself with collecting empty bottles off the coffee table. “I—I don’t know.” He replied quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you want to help.” Dr. Coomer interrupted, turning to face Bubby. The glass bottles clinked together in his arms as he held them tighter against his chest. “I know you care, and I know you understand what would make me happy, but—I just—please don’t put more pressure on me than there already is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby went quiet, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. “...Sorry.” He said after a long pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer turned to dispose of the bottles, letting out a tense sigh. “It’s...it’s going to be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby wasn’t sure if that was directed at him, or if Dr. Coomer was talking to himself, but he nodded. “I’ll...be here if you need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer gave Bubby a tense smile. “I know. Thanks, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bubby had seen Dr. Coomer the morning of her return when they walked to the tram station together as always, but as Bubby rode the tram back, he never saw him get on at the usual stop. Bubby walked stiffly back to the dorms alone, mind racing as he wondered what must have happened. Surely, he left work early to reunite with her, that much made sense—but what had he chosen to do about their relationship?</p><p>It took every ounce of Bubby’s self control not to go to Dr. Coomer’s dorm to try and eavesdrop. Instead, he sat down on his couch, trying to occupy himself watching TV and not think too hard about what must be going on. He put his best effort into minding his own business the rest of the evening, but the night moved at an agonizingly slow pace as he struggled to sleep. By the time his alarm went off, he’d only gotten maybe a half hour of sleep spread out randomly over the night. He didn’t even feel tired by that point, he was just eager to see how Dr. Coomer was faring after Veronica’s arrival.</p><p>He didn’t see him at the tram stop like always, though. It made sense; maybe he’d taken the day off after a rough breakup—or maybe he was spending the day with Veronica after so long being apart from her. Bubby was snappier with his coworkers than usual that day, only running on anxiety and many cups of coffee. Bubby was only a few minutes away from the end of his work day, already preemptively packing up his things when his desk phone rang.</p><p>“Hello?” He answered irritably.</p><p>“Bubby!” Dr. Coomer greeted.</p><p>“Coomer!” Bubby said, much kinder this time. “I didn’t see you today.”</p><p>“Yes, I took the day off.” Dr. Coomer replied, his tone relaxed for the moment. After a pause, though, his voice grew a little more tentative. “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with...me and Veronica tonight.”</p><p>Bubby sank into his chair, stomach dropping at those words. He took a deep breath, trying to give him a supportive response. “Uh—yes, of course.”</p><p>“Wonderful! I’m almost done cooking, just drop in whenever you’re ready.”</p><p>They said their goodbyes, and Bubby hung up the phone, propping his elbows up on his desk and burying his face in his hands with a long groan. He couldn’t fault Dr. Coomer for this, but after years of hoping his best friend would leave his toxic relationship, he was starting to feel ready to snap. He took a deep breath, though, and picked up his bag. He couldn’t snap, however badly he wanted to—it was Dr. Coomer’s burden to bear.</p><p>Bubby went straight to Dr. Coomer and Veronica’s dorm, knocking on the door a couple times. Dr. Coomer was the one to greet him, giving him a wide grin.</p><p>“Hello, Bubby!” He said kindly.</p><p>He didn’t pull him in for a hug like usual, simply stepping aside to let Bubby in. Bubby headed inside, eyes locking with Veronica as she sat on the couch. As if she needed to be absolutely certain Bubby knew she was in the military now, she was wearing the baggy camo pants from her uniform and her hair tied back into a bun, but at least she just had a regular plain white t-shirt to give the illusion of a more casual look. She stood, holding her hand out to Bubby.</p><p>“Hi, Bubby.” She greeted—not necessarily warm, but kinder than she’d been to him the past several years. Not that he necessarily expected or wanted her to be friendly, but it was a strange dissonance, seeing her be polite like this while wearing the uniform from her new job that absolutely broke Dr. Coomer.</p><p>Bubby shook her hand. “Hello, Veronica.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer ushered them both to the dining table, where he set out a pot of soup and poured them each healthy servings. Once everyone had a bowl, he sat down himself with a sigh of contentment, looking to Veronica. Bubby studied his expression—he expected something to be hidden underneath his smile, something that suggested he was tense or upset, but Bubby genuinely couldn’t tell if he was just trying to find what wasn’t there or if it was simply well hidden. He looked so whole-heartedly relaxed and content for the first time in a long time. It made Bubby feel sick to his stomach.</p><p>They were quiet at the table for a while, the silence only broken by their spoons clinking their bowls. It was only as the silence grew longer and longer that Dr. Coomer seemed to grow a little tense, so he cleared his throat and broke it.</p><p>“Veronica, did I already tell you about the time Bubby tried to make a casserole?” He asked, looking at Bubby with a knowing smile.</p><p>“Coomer, if you told her that story, I will actually kill you.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer barked out a loud laugh.</p><p>“I don’t think I heard the story, no.” Veronica said, a small, curious smile on her face.</p><p>“He left something in the oven when he set it to preheat—what was it again, Bubby?” Dr. Coomer grinned at Bubby—he knew exactly what it was, he just wanted to make Bubby say it.</p><p>Bubby sighed. “The box set of the complete first season of Star Trek he got me.”</p><p>“Why was it in your <em> oven? </em>” Veronica questioned with a laugh.</p><p>“It’s just—I don’t use it that often!” Bubby defended. “I have one of the small dorms, there’s not a lot of storage space, so sometimes I put things in there to get them out of the way! It just makes sense!”</p><p>Bubby’s face flushed with embarrassment as Dr. Coomer and Veronica laughed for a long few seconds.</p><p>“It caught on fire while the oven was preheating, and the whole section of the dormitories had to evacuate.” Dr. Coomer said, wiping a tear from his eye.</p><p>“Oh, god, that reminds me of a time in training.” Veronica chimed in, still laughing.</p><p>There it was. Bubby looked at Dr. Coomer, and he saw it—his smile fell, and he immediately looked down at his bowl, brow furrowing. Veronica continued on about some fire drill story, not even noticing Dr. Coomer’s change in disposition. Bubby wanted to reach over the table to take his hand, but he decided against it, instead occupying himself with a long sip of his soup. She finished her story, clearly waiting for them to laugh, but Dr. Coomer was lost in thought and Bubby simply didn’t find it very funny. When she was met by silence, she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and looked back down at her soup.</p><p>“O-oh, I’m sorry, honey.” Dr. Coomer suddenly said, reaching over to take her hand. “I just got distracted for a second. Could you repeat that?”</p><p>“No, no. It’s fine.” She replied, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t want to bore you two.”</p><p>“Come on, I would love to hear your story!” Dr. Coomer insisted, scooting his chair closer to her and resting his chin in his hand, giving her his undivided attention. “Please?”</p><p>“...I’m going to the bathroom.” She said, standing suddenly. She closed the bathroom door loudly behind her.</p><p>Dr. Coomer let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bubby twirled his spoon awkwardly, wondering what would be appropriate for him to say. Would trying to comfort him make him more stressed?</p><p>“...The soup is good.” Bubby finally complimented.</p><p>Dr. Coomer forced a smile, relaxing a little in his seat. “Thanks, Bubby.”</p><p>Eventually, Veronica returned, and things got a little less tense as Dr. Coomer told more funny stories from when she was gone. She told a couple more stories from her training in turn, and Dr. Coomer was careful about his reactions this time. It was hard to watch—knowing just how bad it had gotten when Dr. Coomer realized how bad their relationship was, remembering all the times he spent the night in Bubby’s dorm, recognizing that people-pleasing pattern in his more tense interactions with her—but Bubby didn’t say anything. What <em> could </em> he say? He grew antsy towards the end, making a hurried excuse about work he had to get to and standing. He said his goodbyes to them and finally headed back to his dorm.</p><p>****</p><p>The requirements of Veronica’s job were mysterious, once her brief vacation was over and she actually started work. She didn’t move out of Dr. Coomer’s dorm entirely, but she spent a lot of time elsewhere, only returning on completely random days off. Apparently, not even Dr. Coomer knew much about this new position of hers, but Bubby could tell the mystery of when she would be home was a big strain on him. At least before, he had known when to expect seeing her—now, she could just appear at any moment, and he would be tense and miserable for a couple of days before she returned to work.</p><p>Bubby didn’t press Dr. Coomer this time about his plans, no matter how deeply he wanted to; at this point, he already had enough information to know what was going on. Even as a few more months went by like this, Dr. Coomer never seemed to get any closer to being ready to actually leave her, and Bubby was beginning to wonder if he ever would. What could he even do about it at this point? He’d already tried to convince him, so what more was there he could do as Dr. Coomer’s friend but simply be there to support him?</p><p>So that’s all he did. He just provided Dr. Coomer a safe place to stay and a shoulder to cry on when he needed it. Would things be like this for the rest of their lives? He wondered. He had told himself he wasn’t going to let his feelings for Dr. Coomer sour their friendship, and that sentiment remained true as ever—so he wasn’t going to let Dr. Coomer’s struggles with his wife get in the way, either. Bubby was thinking heavily on this as the two of them sat in comfortable silence together on the tram like always one morning, waiting for Dr. Coomer’s stop to arrive.</p><p>“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer questioned in bewilderment.</p><p>Bubby looked over at Dr. Coomer. “What?”</p><p>Dr. Coomer was staring out the window, though, leaning out to look at something. Bubby leaned in closer to the window as well, searching the approaching Sector B’s platform for what Dr. Coomer was staring at. </p><p>“I don’t see anything.” Bubby finally said. “What are you looking at?”</p><p>“Bubby.” Dr. Coomer repeated. He grabbed Bubby by his tie, dragging him in closer to the window and pointing.</p><p>Bubby adjusted his glasses on his face, following Dr. Coomer’s gaze. He was pointing at a man standing on the platform, talking to someone else. As the tram finally began slowing to a stop on the platform, the dots connected in Bubby’s head, sending a shock through his body. The man Dr. Coomer was pointing at was mostly getting talked at by the other scientist; he was slightly hunched over, looking incredibly overwhelmed by the sound of the tram pulling in. He was short with graying hair that was starting to be almost non-existent on the top of his head, wearing sharp, rectangular glasses with the rest of the usual science team uniform. He was Bubby.</p><p>“Oh my god.” Bubby breathed.</p><p>Impulsively, he shot out of his seat, leaping out the door with Dr. Coomer in tow to face the other Bubby and the scientist stood there at the platform. “What the fuck is going on?” Bubby demanded.</p><p>The other Bubby bristled, baring his sharp teeth at Bubby. The other scientist looked between Bubby and the other Bubby in confusion, holding up a clipboard closer to his chest and taking a step back wordlessly.</p><p>“What are you doing up here?” Bubby questioned, approaching the other Bubby. “You’re supposed to be in the lab.”</p><p>The other Bubby didn’t respond at first. His whole body was tense, glaring loathsomely at Bubby. The other scientist looked intimidated—and maybe he was right to be, depending on the limits of this particular Bubby, but Bubby painfully recognized this behavior. It was strange, seeing it from an outside perspective; was this what everyone else saw when he was first allowed to leave the lab? He had been so overwhelmed then by the sounds and sights of the rest of Black Mesa, and wholly unprepared for the way people would speak to him, expecting real answers without usually having ulterior motives. He didn’t trust anyone, and this other Bubby probably didn’t have any reason to, either.</p><p>“A-...are you two related?” The other scientist asked suddenly with a nervous smile.</p><p>“No, it’s none of your business.” Bubby said, waving his hand dismissively before turning back to the other Bubby. “Did they let you up here?”</p><p>“Yes.” The other Bubby finally replied. “You weren’t supposed to—they separated us, you can’t be here.”</p><p>Bubby tilted his head curiously. “What? What does that mean?”</p><p>“Get back on the fucking tram!” The other Bubby snapped. The door was beginning to close behind them, so he stepped over to hold it open for them. “Go mind—...mind your own business, or they’ll—they’ll take measures to secure the project.”</p><p>“What?” Bubby repeated.</p><p>The other Bubby shoved Bubby back onto the tram, followed closely by Dr. Coomer. The door slid shut behind them as he released it, and the tram departed from the station slowly as they watched the other Bubby follow the scientist further into Sector B.</p><p>“Bubby, what on Earth was that?” Dr. Coomer asked him.</p><p>“I—well, you...don’t get all scientific breakthroughs on the first try.” Bubby answered vaguely, looking uncomfortably at the other scientists who watched them curiously. “Beyond him just existing, though, I have no idea what the fuck is going on.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer’s stop arrived soon after, giving them little time to discuss anything in depth—not that Bubby was entirely comfortable talking about it in front of other scientists. They made hurried promises to talk to each other after work, and Bubby proceeded with his day, trying not to let the thought of the other Bubby distract him too much.</p><p>Once the work day was over and Bubby and Dr. Coomer met up again, they agreed to head to Bubby’s dorm, and they sat down together at the dining table. Bubby rubbed his face exhaustedly, trying to figure out how to start explaining.</p><p>“That was one of the prototypes.” Bubby began. “I was the end result of their efforts to not only create human life artificially, but create a human with...special abilities. There were a lot of attempts that went wrong, whether that was because the result simply didn’t have the powers they wanted, or because the result was...well, didn’t have the behavior they were aiming for. I just have no idea why they let another one out, though—they only let me out because I was the most capable of assisting with Black Mesa projects.”</p><p>“Well, many departments have been rather understaffed lately...” Dr. Coomer said thoughtfully. “Do you—”</p><p>Dr. Coomer stopped as there was a knock at the door. Bubby looked at Dr. Coomer for a tense moment.</p><p>“Who the fuck would that be?” Bubby whispered. “I don’t have any friends but you.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s Veronica.” Dr. Coomer suggested helpfully.</p><p>Bubby stiffly approached the door, opening it just barely enough to peek at his visitor. Dr. Breen stood there, flanked by two security guards holding fire extinguishers.</p><p>“May I—” Dr. Breen started, interrupted by Bubby immediately shutting the door and locking it.</p><p>“What do you want, Dr. Breen?” Bubby called through the door.</p><p>“I’m not going to talk to you like this, Bubby. Just open the door.” Dr. Breen called back.</p><p>“Only if you send those guards away.”</p><p>“You know I can’t do that. You haven’t exactly proven yourself safe to be around.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer stood by Bubby’s side, now, placing a comforting hand on Bubby’s shoulder. He held up a fist for Bubby to see, nodding towards the door. Bubby contemplated it for a moment, then held his finger up, indicating for Dr. Coomer to wait.</p><p>“Well, I guess you’ll just have to leave, then.” Bubby called to Dr. Breen.</p><p>Bubby heard muffled conversation past the door for a moment, then something scraping into the lock. Bubby grew tense, putting two fingers to his temple defensively as the door simply unlocked and pushed open. Dr. Breen held up a key for Bubby to see before dropping it into his suit jacket’s pocket.</p><p>“You really thought I wouldn’t have a key to your dorm?” Dr. Breen questioned.</p><p>“Oh, fuck off.” Bubby hissed.</p><p>“It’s come to my attention that you’ve noticed some of our...new staff.” Dr. Breen went on. “I had hoped to keep the lot of you separated so nobody would catch on, but it seems you have a bit of a habit of telling people things they don’t need to know.”</p><p>Dr. Breen looked pointedly at Dr. Coomer, who was already looking two seconds away from decking him.</p><p>“Already, we’ve had questions from one of the prototypes’ coworkers and several people riding the tram this morning.” Dr. Breen said with a sigh. “Now, we’re going to have to issue a statement to prevent employees from poking around and move the remainder of the prototypes. If you’d just come down to the lab—”</p><p>“No!” Bubby snapped. “That sounds like your problem, Dr. Breen, I had nothing to do with your shitty decision to let the prototypes loose.”</p><p>“Trust me, this is your problem as well.” Dr. Breen insisted. “Come back to the lab with me willingly, and I won’t have you sedated and put into your tube. We could talk to each other like adults for once! Doesn’t that sound nice?”</p><p>“I think you should leave, Dr. Breen.” Dr. Coomer chimed in.</p><p>“Don’t think you’re in the clear either, Mr. Coomer.” Dr. Breen said, pointing at him. “One false move here, and I could have ample reason to have you terminated from Black Mesa.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer looked to Bubby worriedly. Bubby growled, finally putting his hand down. “Fine.”</p><p>“Good, good. So glad you’re going to be reasonable about this.” Dr. Breen said as he turned, waving for Bubby to follow. “Come along, we’ve no time to lose.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer squeezed Bubby’s shoulder. Bubby placed his hand over Dr. Coomer’s for a moment, reveling in Dr. Coomer’s comfort before pulling away and following Dr. Breen back down to the lab. Bubby stiffened as he stepped into the main section of the lab, heart racing with panic as the door closed and locked behind him. He stood tall, though, following Dr. Breen further inside to “talk somewhere more private”, as he said.</p><p>The room they walked to was a room that made Bubby feel sick to his stomach. A steel table was in the center, surrounded by shelves and other little rolling tables filled with medical equipment. Bubby wasn’t stupid—he knew a trap when he saw one. His fingers were to his temples in a flash, but he felt a familiar jab in his shoulder from behind, giving him little opportunity to find any way to escape. As he went down, Dr. Breen stood over him, nodding at a scientist who stepped into view holding a clipboard.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Bubby, you give me no choice.” Dr. Breen told him dismissively before walking away. Bubby’s vision went black before Dr. Breen had the opportunity to turn the corner.</p><p>****</p><p>Bubby woke up in a room he didn’t recognize. It was a struggle to open his heavy eyelids, let alone turn his head or move his body, but the ceiling was not that of his dorm—nor were the thin blankets that covered him. What had happened, again? He tried to remember, but there was a haze settled over his brain that made it difficult to think. He sluggishly lifted his hand to rub his eyes, effectively slapping himself in the face clumsily when he found it more difficult to move than he had expected. With a groan, he let his hand slide down over the top of his head to rest on the pillow—feeling something strange wrapped around his head.</p><p>He carefully felt it again. It was heavily bandaged. Was that why he couldn’t remember?</p><p>Bubby fell asleep again after that for a little while, and when he came to again, the memories finally flooded back. He sat up in the bed, only to feel a stabbing, dizzying pain in his head. He put his hand to the bandage again gently, panic beginning to rise in his chest. What the fuck did they do?</p><p>He looked at the room he was in again, finally recognizing it—it was the old room he’d sometimes been kept in before he had been allowed to live in the dorms. The sounds of other prototypes echoed down the hall outside his room, hissing and snarling and scratching at the walls. He’d have to remind himself later not to be too irritated by his neighbors watching TV too loud, anymore.</p><p>Bubby painstakingly stood, finding himself dressed again in a hospital gown. He quickly found his regular clothes folded up on the dresser, which he carefully changed back into before approaching the door. As years of experience could have told him, he found it locked, so he banged on it several times until he heard a voice over the speaker in his room.</p><p>“Bubby, you should lay back down.” A scientist told him.</p><p>“Why? What the fuck did you do to me?” He demanded loudly.</p><p>“We just installed some neural implants to protect confidentiality.” The scientist explained.</p><p>“You <em> what?! </em>”</p><p>“We’ll go over the details a little bit more later with you, you should get some rest for now.”</p><p>Bubby pressed a hand to his aching head with an agonized groan, moving to sit back down on the edge of his bed. He heeded the scientist’s advice to get some rest, only because the thought of trying to do anything else made him feel nauseous. He had Black Mesa’s advanced medical care and resilient body to thank for a much speedier recovery than might be typical for anyone else, at least, but that still left him mostly alone in his old room for a whole week—the hallways slowly getting quieter and quieter around him until he didn’t hear any of the prototypes, anymore. At the end of that week, another scientist finally filled him in on what his new imposed limitations were.</p><p>“Well, like Dr. Breen told you, we had to issue a statement about the prototypes to the other employees.” The scientist informed him. “We had to move the prototypes unsuited for work down to the Lambda lab for confidentiality, too. Almost a goddamn bloodbath with some of those violent ones.”</p><p>The scientist talked Bubby through the things he was no longer capable of discussing—not only that, but there would be “certain consequences” if he were to try and get anyone else to spread information on his behalf. By this point, Bubby was so stir-crazy from being locked in his old room again that he didn’t even put up too much of a fight; he was just grateful to be stood at the door leading out of the lab, watching as a scientist unlocked it and held it open for Bubby to leave. Bubby nearly bolted out, heading straight back towards the dormitories.</p><p>Bubby bristled at the sight of more prototypes milling about outside the lab, all barely acknowledging him—and other scientists already seemed to be getting used to working with so many Bubbys. The prototype sightings lessened as he grew closer to the dormitories, though, until he could almost pretend this was all a nightmare as he approached Dr. Coomer’s door. The door was quick to open after Bubby knocked, revealing Dr. Coomer staring at him with a dumbstruck look.</p><p>“Bubby!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms around him. “I was so worried!”</p><p>Bubby leaned into Dr. Coomer’s embrace with a deep, exhausted sigh. He hadn’t even realized how badly he missed this; just being close to Dr. Coomer, enjoying how easily he initiated contact, feeling his arms around him. Dr. Coomer pulled away sooner than Bubby had hoped, holding him out at arm’s length to look at him.</p><p>“What happened to you?” Dr. Coomer asked, glancing up at Bubby’s head. “And why is your hair gone?”</p><p>Dr. Coomer led Bubby inside to sit down, and Bubby explained as best he could what had happened. When he tried to share any details about confidential information, now, he felt a small <em> zap </em> in his head—not necessarily painful, but not pleasant, either—and the train of thought would be gone. He buried his face in his hands in deep frustration. It was one thing knowing he could face being put back in containment if he leaked Black Mesa secrets, but being made <em> literally incapable </em> of telling anyone what they determined to be confidential? It was bad. It was so bad, Bubby barely even felt like he was accurately processing exactly how bad it was.</p><p>Dr. Coomer and Bubby looked up in surprise as his front door opened. Veronica stepped inside, still in uniform with her bag slung over her shoulder.</p><p>“A-ah, Veronica!” Dr. Coomer greeted. He started to stand, then glanced back at Bubby, settling awkwardly back onto the edge of the couch. “Bubby and I were—”</p><p>“Leaving.” Bubby interrupted suddenly, standing. “I was just about to go back home. I’ll...see you two around.”</p><p>“No, don’t leave on my account.” Veronica said flatly, setting her bag down by the coffee table.</p><p>Bubby wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.</p><p>“You could stay for dinner, if you’d like!” Dr. Coomer suggested with a tense smile.</p><p>“I...I need to get some rest.” Bubby replied, shaking his head. “It’s been a long week, I <em> really </em> need a nap.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer’s smile grew slightly more forced as he nodded. “Okay. Rest well, Bubby.”</p><p>****</p><p>Bubby had no choice but to adjust to life with his prototypes running around. Now that his origins were pretty much public knowledge among Black Mesa employees, he got a lot of questions—<em> what sorts of powers do you have? </em> Oh, you know. <em> What was it like growing up in Black Mesa? </em> Shitty. <em> Where are all the other Bubbys staying in Black Mesa? </em> Can’t say. Bubby grew impatient with it quickly, resorting to telling anyone with questions to fuck off rather than answering anymore. By the time boxing club came around, he was fully prepared to deck anyone who tried to ask him anything else.</p><p>Fortunately, they were at least polite enough not to start off the night bombarding Bubby with questions, so he leaned against the wall watching the rest of the group peacefully like every other week until Dr. Coomer pestered him again for a match. Eventually, just like always, Bubby caved and slipped on the spare gloves, and everyone else gathered around to watch.</p><p>“Y’know, I always wondered why Coomer loses against Bubby so often.” One of the scientists commented to another. “I guess now it makes sense.”</p><p>“Bubby’s <em> very </em> strong!” Dr. Coomer said to them proudly.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.” Bubby grumbled.</p><p>“I heard you have powers, though, Bubby!” The scientist said. “Have you just been holding back this whole time?”</p><p>“What?!” Dr. Coomer questioned incredulously before Bubby got a chance to respond. “Bubby, don’t hold back! I want to see how strong you <em> really </em> are!”</p><p>“Oh, you really don’t.” Bubby insisted.</p><p>“How easy have you been going on me this whole time?” Dr. Coomer asked him. “Be honest with me, Bubby.”</p><p>“...I’ve been using about...five percent strength, maybe.”</p><p>“<em> Five percent?! </em>” Dr. Coomer exclaimed. “But Bubby, I thought we were evenly matched!”</p><p>“What do you want from me? Do you want me to <em> kill </em> you?”</p><p>“Give me more than that!” Dr. Coomer demanded, puffing out his chest proudly. “Hit me, I can take it!”</p><p>“You want me to just punch you?”</p><p>“Everyone else in this club hits me as hard as they can, and I’m always fine!” Dr. Coomer insisted. “If they can do that, you can give me...ten percent.”</p><p>“Coomer, that’s way too much.”</p><p>“Come on!!”</p><p>Bubby let out a loud annoyed sigh. “Fine, if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll hit you a <em> little </em> harder just to show you how much it’s gonna fucking suck.”</p><p>Bubby slipped on one of the spare boxing gloves, reared back, and hit him with what he approximated to be about 7% strength. Dr. Coomer doubled over and stumbled back, wrapping his arms tightly around just where his sternum ended. Bubby felt a pang of guilt immediately—maybe he should’ve hit a little lighter? Dr. Coomer lifted his head to give him a pained smile, though.</p><p>“Oof, y-you’re right.” He wheezed.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Bubby asked, removing the gloves and placing a hand on Dr. Coomer’s back.</p><p>“I’m fine.” Dr. Coomer insisted. “Unrelated, but I’m going to...sit down for a few.”</p><p>One of the other boxers offered one of the few chairs they had for Dr. Coomer to sit down in. Bubby knelt beside Dr. Coomer’s chair, accompanied by Beatrice.</p><p>“Are you <em> sure </em> you’re okay?” Beatrice pressed. “Come on, sit up for a second, let me check.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer complied, lifting his undershirt just enough for Beatrice to check the damage. Bubby winced as they found a nasty bruise on his right side, where his lower ribcage would be. She gently touched it, which earned an immediate restrained grunt of pain from Dr. Coomer.</p><p>“Oh dude, this looks bad.” She said. “I think your ribs might be broken.”</p><p>“Oh, Jesus, Coomer, I’m sorry.” Bubby said impulsively.</p><p>“I-it’s okay.” Dr. Coomer said shakily, sweat beginning to bead up on his face. “Let’s just—can you help me get to a medical station?”</p><p>Beatrice and Bubby helped Dr. Coomer stand, taking him slowly up towards an upper level with functioning medical stations.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Coomer, I didn’t want to hurt you this bad.” Bubby said again, moving carefully as he supported Dr. Coomer’s injured side.</p><p>“Bubby, it’s fine, please stop apologizing or I’ll pass out.” Dr. Coomer said through gritted teeth.</p><p>“Y’know...” Beatrice interrupted, that tone of voice that suggested she was trying to sound like something only just occurred to her, “those ribs are gonna take a while to heal properly. And we’ve been looking for some volunteers in the cybernetics department...”</p><p>Dr. Coomer’s eyes lit up. “You want me to volunteer?”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re a healthy guy, I think you’d be a pretty good fit. We could just replace your ribcage entirely with something stronger, no big deal.” Beatrice suggested casually. “And since we’d be working on your chest area already anyway, I could see if maybe we could do a little...additional reconstruction.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer didn’t seem to understand at first before the dots seemed to connect in his head. He beamed at her, stimming by hitting her shoulder several times weakly with his open palm.</p><p>“You’d give me <em> top surgery?! </em>” He practically squealed.</p><p>“Yeah, I mean, it sort of depends on the model of—”</p><p>“Beatrice, whatever you have to do, I’m on board.” Dr. Coomer interrupted.</p><p>Beatrice laughed. “Alright, well, let’s get you to the medical station first, then we can head to the cybernetics lab and I’ll call everyone up for emergency work.”</p><p>Dr. Coomer turned to Bubby excitedly. “Bubby, you breaking my ribs is going to be the best thing you’ve ever done for me.”</p><p>“That’s great, because this was going to haunt me for a while.”</p><p>Bubby helped Beatrice take Dr. Coomer to the medical station, where he received some immediate first aid before they took him down to the cybernetics department. Bubby sat there just outside the lab they were working in, even falling asleep for a couple minutes at a time as he waited hours for the procedure to be complete. Just like Bubby’s less fortunate procedure, Dr. Coomer’s recovery was speedier than he might have gotten outside of Black Mesa; he stayed in the cybernetics department for about a week and a half, frequently visited by Bubby before he was finally released to rest in the comfort of his own dorm. Once he was healed enough, Dr. Coomer was <em> not </em> shy about showing off his new chest, which Bubby did his best to not appear too flustered by.</p><p>Dr. Coomer was <em> way </em> more into cybernetics than Bubby had ever taken him for, though. It wasn’t just the top surgery; he was ecstatic about the new ribcage, and almost immediately signed up to volunteer again after his mandatory three year waiting period was over. He became a valued volunteer of the cybernetics department, slowly replacing the parts of his body that gave him the most pain over the span of the next few years. If he could’ve been any more rambunctious than he was before all the cybernetic enhancements, he certainly was now—no longer quite so concerned with injury and now much stronger than he had been before, him and Bubby were getting closer to being evenly matched, even if it was now a much more unfair fight with everyone else in boxing club now.</p><p>They were having another much-anticipated match, the other club members thrilled to watch two hyper-powered men go at it when someone Bubby didn’t recognize stepped into the club room. The unfamiliar face wearing an expensive looking suit made everyone immediately go sheepishly silent; the club hadn’t been discovered in the many years it had been in operation, retaining an incredibly close-knit community—had someone accidentally let it slip?</p><p>“Can I help you?” Dr. Coomer asked, shockingly collected for a man who had just been caught wailing on his friend against company policy.</p><p>“Oh, don’t mind me.” The man said, leaning against the wall casually. “I’m not here to get anyone in trouble. I’m something of a boxing enthusiast myself, I just wanted to see a match or two.”</p><p>Everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances.</p><p>“No, really, go ahead.” The man insisted, nodding at Dr. Coomer and Bubby. “Trust me, if I was going to bust you, I would’ve done it already.”</p><p>It took a little bit more insisting, but Dr. Coomer eventually threw another punch, and the two of them continued their match. Bubby won again, as most of their matches went these days, and the man clapped for them as Bubby helped Dr. Coomer back up.</p><p>“Excellent form, you two.” The man complimented, stepping over to hold out his hand to Dr. Coomer. “I’ve heard much about your participation with cybernetics, Dr. Coomer. I was wondering if you’d like to chat about volunteering for another Black Mesa project.”</p><p>“...What project?” Dr. Coomer asked curiously, removing a glove to shake his hand.</p><p>The man led Dr. Coomer out of the room to discuss the details. Bubby took his spot next to the door, the rest of the room eerily silent as they all strained to hear their conversation. The man was speaking to Dr. Coomer too quietly for anyone to hear, to Bubby’s great dismay, but Dr. Coomer’s loud, shocked response filled them in plenty.</p><p>“You want to <em> clone </em> me?!”</p><p>Bubby exchanged a look with the other club members as the man shushed him, and they continued their conversation in a whisper. After a few minutes, they suddenly exchanged goodbyes, and everyone but Bubby attempted to look casual as Dr. Coomer headed back inside. He quietly shut the door behind him, waiting until he was sure the man was gone to speak.</p><p>“Did you all hear that?” He asked in bewilderment.</p><p>Everyone else looked too sheepish to reply, so Bubby answered for them. “A <em> cloning </em> project?” He questioned.</p><p>“Yes!” Dr. Coomer replied, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I said no, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for that offer.”</p><p>“We’ve already got a million Bubbys running around the facility, we don’t need a million Coomers, either.” One of the scientists commented with a laugh.</p><p>Dr. Coomer laughed as well while Bubby huffed and crossed his arms.</p><p>“I think having clones of me would be a little odd.” Dr. Coomer agreed.</p><p>“And he just walked away when you said no?” Bubby asked suspiciously.</p><p>“Well, yes. It’s a paid opportunity, I’m sure he’ll find someone else willing to accept.” Dr. Coomer tilted his head curiously at Bubby. “Why wouldn’t he?”</p><p>“...Hm. It’s nothing.” Bubby muttered.</p><p>Maybe Bubby’s paranoia of Black Mesa was showing through a little too much, he thought—if it was a paid opportunity, Dr. Coomer was right; there were plenty of other people they could ask. So why did he have such a bad feeling about this?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>got my top surgery done at the black mesa facility lads!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bubby hadn’t seen the breaking point coming. As far as he knew, things were just as normal as they ever could be—there was no big catalyst, nothing that he could tell was the final straw. He awoke one Saturday morning to find Dr. Coomer already curled up on his couch, still wearing his work clothes. Bubby let out a deep sigh, retrieving a blanket from his closet and tossing it over Dr. Coomer before heading into the kitchen to make coffee. Dr. Coomer woke up as well soon after—he didn’t even move, Bubby just heard his voice from the couch, small and broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re getting a divorce.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nearly dropped his mug in shock. He set it down carefully instead, standing and moving to sit down on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” Bubby asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled the blanket over his head. “...Nothing. I don’t even know what came over me. She just came home, and...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer went silent. Bubby sighed, unsure of what to say, so he gently placed a hand on where he assumed Dr. Coomer’s shoulder to be. After a while, Dr. Coomer finally sat up, and Bubby moved to sit down next to him. He wrapped himself up in the blanket, laying his head in his lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s probably already done moving her things out...” Dr. Coomer murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby thought for a moment that was an announcement that he was leaving, but he stayed put, so Bubby squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “...How are you feeling about it?” He finally asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Nothing. But also everything.” Dr. Coomer groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you still love me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby froze in surprise, face going hot. “Wh-why do you ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well—don’t ask something like that for no reason!” Bubby scolded. He regretted his harsh tone when Dr. Coomer didn’t match his energy with a smile or a laugh like usual, so he settled down and pushed his glasses up on his face. “...I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t reply. He just nodded, pulling a hand out of the blanket so he could take Bubby’s. Bubby squeezed his hand, chest aching with some mixture of sadness and longing. Whatever this was, whatever the reason Dr. Coomer asked, he knew somewhere deep down he wasn’t looking for any change in their relationship; maybe he just needed the reassurance, Bubby considered. He certainly couldn’t blame him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite having his dorm to himself again after that, Dr. Coomer stayed with Bubby for a few days. He was despondent in an entirely new way Bubby hadn’t seen before—he had hoped that his spirits would lift after leaving her, but he only seemed to get worse. Bubby was at a loss for what to do or say; at least before, he knew the source of the problem and how it could be fixed. Now, though, the source of Dr. Coomer’s problems was gone, so why was he so miserable?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In their days spent together, Bubby struggled to find the balance between forcing Dr. Coomer into activity for his own good versus letting him get some well-deserved rest. He had been in his kitchen one evening while Dr. Coomer sat on his couch, listening to some of his old music—Bubby wasn’t sure if it was great for him, honestly, considering a lot of the songs seemed to be ones he associated with Veronica, but he kept silent as he stirred a pot of shitty boxed macaroni. He was beginning to realize a little too late he’d forgotten to put in milk when a song started that made his chest swell with a thousand different complicated emotions. The gentle melodic humming echoed into the kitchen as Bubby stopped to turn towards Dr. Coomer. He’d already stood from the couch, approaching Bubby slowly. Wordlessly, he stopped in front of him, lifting one hand—and Bubby knew exactly what he wanted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby abandoned the pot of shitty macaroni, tracing his fingers up Dr. Coomer’s palm before lacing them between his. Dr. Coomer held his hand tightly, almost cutting off Bubby’s circulation in his fingers as he placed his other hand on his lower waist and pulled him in close, immediately burying his face into Bubby’s shoulder. Bubby sighed, putting his other hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder as they started swaying to the music. The exact same song they’d danced to before his wedding. They were completely silent as the song played, and once it ended, they simply stood there and held each other. Bubby felt Dr. Coomer’s breathing grow ragged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It...it’ll be alright.” Bubby tried to say reassuringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed. Bubby tilted his head in confusion, watching as Dr. Coomer pulled away from him just enough for them to look at each other properly. He wiped a tear from his eye, smiling at Bubby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think the macaroni is burning.” Dr. Coomer said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, goddammit.” Bubby huffed, turning to look at the pot. Sure enough, there was smoke beginning to billow up from inside. Growling in frustration, Bubby placed two fingers to his temple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flames burst from inside the pot, flickering over the top of it and licking at the shelf above it that held the microwave. The fire alarm went off, drilling into their ears painfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> burning.” Bubby said over the fire alarm with a grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer burst into laughter, tears rolling down his face. After a moment, the two of them took the fire seriously, putting it out and stopping the alarm before there was any real damage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ll order us a pizza.” Dr. Coomer said once the macaroni was taken care of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only after Dr. Coomer returned to living in his own dorm that he began to open up a little bit more about the ending of his marriage. In a technical sense, things </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually gotten a little better—their reduced contact could only lead to less arguments, and whenever they were together, it had become somewhat special—but Dr. Coomer had taken a long time to realize that was never what he wanted. If the only way they could be together somewhat happily was to spend so much time apart, what was the point?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She took it alright, all things considered.” Dr. Coomer sighed, staring out at the desert from their usual spot on the roof. “...Despite everything, though, I...I still miss her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That made Bubby want to scream, but he resisted it like a champ and nodded instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that it was probably the right decision to leave.” Dr. Coomer went on. “But...I can’t help but feel like I pushed her away in the first place, you know? Maybe it wouldn’t have come to this if I had...been a better husband.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s bullshit.” Bubby said. “As far as I’m concerned, she didn’t deserve you! You were sleeping on my couch </span>
  <em>
    <span>constantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a while there because she couldn’t communicate with you without it becoming an argument, and she went behind your back to sign up for the military and acted like she did it for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She’s not worth your time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t look entirely convinced. He rested his chin in one hand, drumming his fingers on the roof with the other. “...Yes, but...I wonder if I was being unfair when I didn’t...” He paused, looking away. “Never mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t what?” Bubby pressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer only glanced at Bubby, immediately averting his eyes again as he took a deep breath. “Perhaps she was a little resentful towards me because she knew I’ve always...loved you, as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby’s stomach churned as he looked away from Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And maybe—maybe I should have </span>
  <em>
    <span>talked </span>
  </em>
  <span>about that more with her.” Dr. Coomer continued, growing a little more frantic as he spoke. “I dodged her questions about it, because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> love her! I wasn’t lying when I told her I loved her! I just didn’t want it to be on her mind. But maybe avoiding it only made it worse. Maybe...maybe I hurt her quite badly as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby was quiet, collecting his thoughts for a moment before he replied. “You weren’t forcing her to stay. If it bothered her, she could have left at any time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer sighed, combing through his hair with his fingers. “...I’m sure you’re right. I just don’t know if it’s fair for me to take comfort in that if I always avoided that conversation, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Still, that doesn’t warrant years of her mistreating you.” Bubby argued. “I can see how that would suck, but that doesn’t make it alright for her to have treated you that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer didn’t say anything. Bubby let the conversation go, staring up at the sky with a quiet sigh as he finally allowed himself to think about what Dr. Coomer had said. He’d always loved him. The spark was still there between them, somewhere—buried under decades of repression. Bubby wondered if someday, circumstances would allow for it to be uncovered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby shook the thought out of his head. Best not to dwell on that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby didn’t talk about the divorce for a while after that. It was mentioned every now and again when vaguely relevant—signing the paperwork, losing certain military benefits, her forgetting something in his dorm—but Dr. Coomer was resistant as always to talking about his feelings on the matter. He started to put on a persona for others of being back to his old self, but Bubby saw through it easily; he didn’t seem to be sleeping well, and he rarely went out of his way to talk to others unless he had to or was spoken to first. Bubby, as always, was at a loss for what to do; surely, Dr. Coomer just needed time to process and move on, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby was considering this as the tram pulled into Dr. Coomer’s stop one morning. He looked to Dr. Coomer, ready to say goodbye, but he hadn’t moved; he just sat there, head resting in his palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nudged him with his elbow. “Dr. Coomer, your stop’s here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled at Bubby kindly. “Oh, no, I’m not going to hazardous waste today. I’ve been headhunted for a different project.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Since when?” Bubby questioned. “What project?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t tell you yet, it’s still confidential.” Dr. Coomer replied. “I’ll be getting off after your stop for a little while, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Huh. Okay.” Bubby said uneasily as the tram began to pull away from Dr. Coomer’s department.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. It’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby had been with Black Mesa for much too long to have any faith left in the ways they operated; he did, however, want to have faith that Dr. Coomer knew what he was doing. Despite his reservations, he let it go, and he said goodbye to Dr. Coomer at his own stop instead that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer continued to be cagey about his new temporary position for the following weeks, though. There wasn’t anything too different about his behavior, Bubby tried to rationalize to himself—at least, not until he caught him moving boxes through the dormitory hallways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer! What are you doing?” Bubby called to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer turned to look at him. It was the weekend, but he was wearing his uniform for some reason as he walked through the dormitory halls. He looked exhausted, an uncharacteristically heartbroken expression on his face. Bubby hurried over to him, even as he turned away from him and continued down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer, what’s going on?” Bubby asked, placing a hand on Dr. Coomer’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing, I’m just—I’m a little busy at the moment, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied, forcing a smile at him. “Could we talk some other time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh...of course.” Bubby muttered. “...You’re not moving out of Black Mesa, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, of course not.” Dr. Coomer reassured him. “Everything will make sense a little later, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “...Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stopped following Dr. Coomer, watching him head down the hall until he was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the tram stop the next Monday, Dr. Coomer greeted Bubby the same as usual—no heartbroken expressions or uncharacteristic exhaustion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what were you doing on Saturday, then?” Bubby asked him as they boarded the tram together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Saturday? When I saw you in the hallway?” Bubby reminded him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer gave him a tense smile, glancing away for a long moment without replying. Finally, he rubbed his head and laughed awkwardly as he spoke. “Uhh, I’m sorry Bubby, you may have to remind me what I was doing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...You were moving some boxes. I asked what you were doing, but you said you were too busy to talk.” Bubby told him, eyeing him worriedly. “Are you feeling alright, Coomer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m perfectly fine! Don’t worry about me, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer reassured him kindly. “I was just, uhh—moving the last of Veronica’s things out of my dorm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> explain how cagey and distraught he’d been, but hadn’t he already taken out the last of Veronica’s things? Would he really have found a whole box worth of things to return at this point? Bubby didn’t push it, though—Dr. Coomer seemed to be growing increasingly uncomfortable, and perhaps it wasn’t weird enough on its own to warrant so much concern. They proceeded as normal instead, and the rest of the week passed without any other incident.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On one otherwise regular morning, however, Bubby was thumbing through his mail—pretty much exclusively company memos, due to having no cause to receive anything else—when his eyes caught on a name he knew all too well as he was scanning one of the memos. He dropped everything else and read the memo in its entirety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hello, valued Black Mesa employee!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You may notice an influx of new teammates in the next few months as we begin a new employee initiative. Similar to a previous project currently in effect, these employees may all appear to be a single man. This is because of an exciting new development in cloning technology! As opposed to the previous initiative involving Black Mesa project Bubby, this new initiative utilizes the clones of Dr. Harold P. Coomer, who volunteered samples from which we could create the employees needed to complete work for our clients on time with less pressure. Please welcome Dr. Coomer to your teams, and be on the lookout for more volunteer positions in the future!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby dropped the memo, picking up his phone instinctively to dial the hazardous waste department. It was only as he was halfway done dialing when he remembered Dr. Coomer wouldn’t be there—so what department should he call? He wracked his brain, but eventually had to come to terms with the fact that he was just going to have to wait until the end of the day to talk to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Bubby hopped on the tram at the end of the day, he immediately spotted Dr. Coomer, who greeted him with an apologetic smile when Bubby sat down beside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer, what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bubby questioned, holding up the memo for him to see. “You didn’t tell me you signed onto the cloning project! I thought you said you didn’t want to!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I wanted to be the one to tell you. I just didn’t realize they were going to release the memo today.” Dr. Coomer said sheepishly. “I suppose I came around to the idea. I just...wanted to be helpful to the other departments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby wasn’t sure what to say to that. He stuffed the memo back into his bag and leaned back into his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there something wrong?” Dr. Coomer asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh? No.” Bubby said, crossing his arms uncomfortably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I—of course, it was your decision.” Bubby replied, tone tinged with confusion—not at Dr. Coomer, but more at himself. Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>he so uncomfortable if that was Dr. Coomer’s decision to make?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby headed back to his dorm alone, turning down Dr. Coomer’s offer to eat dinner together. He sat at his dining table over his own hastily made dinner, contemplating his emotions carefully. He was worried for Dr. Coomer, certainly. He knew all too well Black Mesa would take advantage of employees “for science”—and Dr. Coomer was struggling after the divorce, so surely, he hadn’t been in his right mind when he made the decision. Was that unfair of him to think?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clones didn’t speak to Bubby much. They all seemed uncomfortable with the whole concept of it; they all </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembered</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, surely, calling him by his name and immediately growing anxious the minute Bubby approached. There was even one working in his department, now, who really went out of his way not to cross paths with him. If he was uncomfortable, then Bubby should just leave him alone—that was the logical side of him talking, though. The side that he actually listened to was the one overcome with a need to understand just what the fuck Dr. Coomer was thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dr. Coomer!” Bubby called as the Coomer clone was entering the break room. Bubby hurried inside after him, receiving that strained smile he always got when he tried talking to him. “Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, Bubby.” The Coomer clone replied, fiddling with his tie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Why do you avoid me?” Bubby asked—perhaps too accusatory, but it wasn’t like he was carefully considering his actions at the moment. “The original Coomer doesn’t, but all you clones do</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You clearly seem to remember me, so why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I...well, it’s...a weird situation. I didn’t want it to be any weirder for you than it had to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it’s going to be weird!” Bubby argued. “But it’s weirder to have a million of you </span>
  <em>
    <span>avoiding</span>
  </em>
  <span> me all the time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone’s eyes widened at that, his shoulders drooping a little. “Oh, Bubby, I didn’t want you to feel like...I...” He looked away again, biting at his knuckle thoughtfully for a moment. “I have to admit, maybe it’s a little selfish, but...it’s weird for me in ways I’m not sure I want us to have to work through like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby searched his expression for a long, confused moment. “Wait, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...by existing, I’m now dedicated to Black Mesa.” The Coomer clone explained uneasily. “The original Harold is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be your friend. But all of us clones owe Black Mesa our lives, and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t leave.” Bubby interrupted, stomach dropping. “You were born here, and now you can never leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone paused for a long time before nodding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” Bubby breathed, clutching his chest. “You just—you’re stuck here, just like me, now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bubby, it’s okay!” The Coomer clone comforted. “We’re all connected. If we pay attention, we can experience what the original Harold experiences! We’re not necessarily missing out on anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby crossed his arms tightly. “Does it work the other way around, too? Can he...hear us talking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone nodded hesitantly. “He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not sure if he’s listening, but he can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohhh, god.” Bubby practically wheezed. His chest was starting to feel tight as he stood there. He reached blindly for a chair, pulling one up and sitting down in it clumsily as his head began to spin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” The Coomer clone asked, kneeling down beside his chair. “I can see how this might be overwhelming. That’s...sort of why I was avoiding you so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to be trapped here like me!” Bubby blurted out. “There’s so many of you, and all of you are going to be stuck here forever! That’s fucking miserable!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t have to be bad!” The Coomer clone said reassuringly. “Trust me, Bubby, I thought about it and decided I was alright with this. I wanted to be useful, and this is something that allows me to be useful to hundreds of people at once!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby gripped the Coomer clone’s shoulders tightly, looking him dead in the eye. “Coomer, I don’t think you thought this through at all. You don’t know how </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking suffocating</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is to live like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone frowned deeply, looking down at the tile below them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I—I...care about you,” Bubby went on falteringly, “and I know you’ve been having a hard time after the divorce, but this is...this is horrible. I’m honestly pretty fucking disappointed you didn’t think harder about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Bubby. Maybe you’re right.” The Coomer clone said, pulling away shamefully. “If it ever gets to be too much, though, I can always go back—if I die, my consciousness returns to the original. I could potentially return to normal, as long as all us clones are terminated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>comforting.” Bubby said sarcastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone laughed uneasily. “Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound so good. But...well, I don’t want </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be how you see me, is what I was trying to say. I was hoping you could...only talk to the original from now on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby crossed his arms again, staring down into his lap. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay, Bubby.” The Coomer clone insisted, standing up. “It was strange for me as well when they did this with your prototypes, but I just had to adjust how I thought about them. I hope you can do the same for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That comparison felt like a punch to the gut—of course it wasn’t the same, the prototypes didn’t share Bubby’s memories or consciousness, not to mention they had absolutely no say in the matter—but he let it go and simply nodded. “...Okay. If that’s what you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Coomer clone smiled at him. “Thanks, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer left Bubby alone in the break room. Bubby let out a deep sigh, burying his face in his hands and collecting himself for a moment before standing and heading back to his office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Dr. Coomer acted guiltily around him after that, Bubby was sure he must have heard the conversation he had with the Coomer clone—and Bubby was in no mood to continue that conversation, so he let it be. It was agonizing for Bubby to think about the situation the clones were in now, so he simply pushed it down, tried not to let it get to him—what was done was done, after all, and Dr. Coomer would hopefully know when to say he’d had enough. Still, the thing that always got to him even after he successfully managed to push down his discomfort was the sight of Coomer clones talking to prototypes around the facility. It just opened up so many questions that Bubby wasn’t sure he’d ever want to hear the answers to, so he’d quickly look away, forcing himself not to think about it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For how horrible the clone thing was, as time went on, Bubby saw less and less concerning behavior from Dr. Coomer. Bubby didn’t think he’d ever be the same as before Veronica, and he would never expect him to bounce back that way, but he slowly returned to similar rambunctious, chaotic behavior Bubby had grown to love seeing out of him. This was particularly put into practice when Dr. Coomer suggested something Bubby had thought would never come up again, after how poorly it had gone the last time he attempted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember when I tried to kidnap you?” Dr. Coomer asked as they sat together at Bubby’s dining table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah.” Bubby replied, quirking an eyebrow curiously at Dr. Coomer. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s an event happening on the surface nearby that I think you might enjoy attending, if you’d...be comfortable with me trying again.” Dr. Coomer suggested, twirling pasta around his fork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An event?” Bubby echoed. “What event?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to keep that part a surprise, at least!” Dr. Coomer said coyly before his tone turned more serious. “Bubby, I know you...struggle with the idea of leaving Black Mesa. But I’ve thought a lot about what it must be like, especially after your conversation with one of my clones. I...don’t feel like I’ve done enough for you. I would like to show you the surface.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby bit his lip thoughtfully. On one hand, the memory of standing out in the middle of the desert made his stomach churn as he thought about it; on the other hand, some other part of him that screamed for even just one night of freedom was leaping at the idea of leaving—particularly for an “event” Dr. Coomer assessed he would like. He trusted Dr. Coomer’s judgment, after all. He trusted Dr. Coomer with his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, Bubby nodded. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Dr. Coomer repeated excitedly with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine, I’ll go.” Bubby confirmed, trying to sound more irritated by the idea. “But I reserve the right to change my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!” Dr. Coomer nodded, dropping his fork to reach across the table and place his hand on Bubby’s. “Please trust me, though, it’s going to be a wonderful night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So when is this...event?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s this Saturday! I had to go through quite some trouble to get us tickets at this point, but it’s going to be worth it!” Dr. Coomer prattled, practically bouncing in his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tickets?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer put a hand to his mouth. “Oop! I don’t want to spoil it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby chuckled. “Alright, how long will we be gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we would need to be out of here fairly early Saturday morning, then we’d be staying in a hotel overnight after the event and driving back Sunday morning.” Dr. Coomer explained. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hotel. Bubby drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully—on TV, they ranged from looking luxurious to miserable and filthy. Surely, Dr. Coomer wouldn’t want to take Bubby somewhere miserable for potentially his only night on the surface, right? He nodded slowly. “Uhh, yeah, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The week dragged by agonizingly slow as Bubby waited for the weekend. On Friday, he stood over the empty suitcase he’d kept from the first time Dr. Coomer had kidnapped him, wondering exactly what was appropriate to pack, or how much. He threw in pajamas and a change of clothes for the next day, but the suitcase was so empty, he wondered if there was something else people normally packed for an overnight stay. He ended up throwing in a bunch more things that </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be useful until he couldn’t fit anything else in, then set it by the door and settled down to watch TV until the time Dr. Coomer had told him to be up by—his heart was racing so much with anticipation, he knew he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep, so why bother?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer was right on time knocking on his door to take him up to his car in the parking garage. Bubby swallowed hard, looking around them in fits of paranoia as they walked briskly down the hallways together. In the parking garage, Dr. Coomer tossed their bags into the trunk and nodded to the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in, I think the guard is coming back.” Dr. Coomer said urgently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?” Bubby asked, climbing in clumsily and closing the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My clones have been distracting him for a few minutes.” Dr. Coomer explained with a mischievous smile. “I think he caught on, though. We’d better get going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby pulled his seatbelt on as Dr. Coomer started up the car, tires squealing as he backed up hastily and floored it out of the parking garage. Bubby gripped his seatbelt tightly in his hands as they left the safety of the enclosed parking garage, sending them out into nothing but open air. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to demand to turn around. He wasn’t going to chicken out this time. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you doing alright, Bubby?” Dr. Coomer asked gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby slowly opened his eyes, turning to Dr. Coomer. He was mostly focused on the road, but he cast him a worried glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah. Just keep going.” Bubby managed to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, open the glove compartment, I have some music in there that might take your mind off things.” Dr. Coomer suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pointed helpfully at the compartment in front of Bubby’s knees. He opened it, finding a mess of tapes inside. Searching through them certainly did distract him enough to calm down a little bit—and his eyes lit up as he found the name of a band he greatly enjoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you have Mötley Crüe!” He said with a grin. He immediately slid the tape into the player as Dr. Coomer laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was worried you might find that one.” Dr. Coomer said playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, they’re great!” Bubby huffed as the music began blaring over the speakers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer had been right; the music was immensely helpful. As Bubby sang along to one of his favorite songs, he was finally capable of just watching the desert roll past them. Black Mesa was so far behind them, now, Bubby couldn’t even see it when he turned around. It felt so strange—a little terrifying at first, but when he turned back to Dr. Coomer, staring attentively out the window as he drove them further and further away, he decided there was nowhere else he’d rather be but here beside Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive took a long time. How did people just sit there in a car for hours and not go completely nuts? He was incredibly stir crazy by the time they even reached a town to make a pit stop in. Dr. Coomer pulled into a gas station, urging Bubby to follow him into the store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t know.” Bubby said uneasily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you want to choose some snacks?” Dr. Coomer said enticingly. “Come on, it’ll be good exposure before the event tonight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby paused for a moment before he undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the car. It had been one thing to drive outside of Black Mesa, but standing somewhere entirely new he’d never been before was another. The sun was up, now, immediately bringing a sweat to Bubby’s brow as he took in the fresh air. Dr. Coomer circled around the car to stand by Bubby’s side, taking his hand gently in his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready?” Dr. Coomer asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby followed Dr. Coomer into the gas station, where he slowly investigated each aisle carefully before selecting his snacks. He eyed the counter after that, the cashier’s back turned as they seemed to be organizing something behind the register. Bubby </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> money, technically—prepaid cards regularly given to him loaded with money allotted from the Black Mesa budget, so he could order his own groceries—but could they track his purchases with the card? Sweating nervously, Bubby made an impulsive decision. He sprinted out of the store and back to the car, climbing back in and slamming the door shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer appeared in the gas station doorway a couple minutes later with a lidded paper cup and a bag of chips, locking eyes with Bubby. As he opened the door on the driver’s side, he gave him a confused look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, why’d you leave?” He asked. “I was going to rejoin you after I got my coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was done, I wasn’t gonna sit there and wait for you.” Bubby replied evasively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Did you even pay for those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby looked down at the bag of chips and bottle of soda in his lap. “...No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer burst into laughter. “I was going to buy them for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby couldn’t help but laugh as well, now. “Well, now you don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer quickly started up the car, backing out and getting back on the road. The rest of the drive was just as agonizingly long, but eventually, Dr. Coomer parked in a massive parking lot in front of an incredibly tall building. Bubby had seen how tall buildings could be on TV, obviously, but it wasn’t quite like Bubby had expected to be standing right at the base of one. Dr. Coomer collected their bags from the trunk, taking Bubby’s free hand to lead him inside. So it was a hotel, Bubby realized, watching people roam in and out of the lobby with their own luggage. Dr. Coomer checked them in, handing Bubby one of the keycards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s so many people.” Bubby muttered to him as they headed to the elevators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot of people in Black Mesa as well.” Dr. Coomer pointed out. “It’s not so different! They’re just not your coworkers this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that sounded just fine to Dr. Coomer, but it was a strange adjustment to Bubby. They piled into an elevator with a family, silent as the children stood beside them chattered to their two mothers. They were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Of course they were small, they were children, but holy shit, Bubby thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby stepped off the elevator on one of the upper levels, quickly finding their room. Dr. Coomer struggled with unlocking it—he said something about there alway being a trick to the timing when you took your keycard out—before he pushed the door open. There was a short hallway consisting of a closet on one side and a bathroom on the other before it opened up in the main part of the room. It was small, so it was impossible for Bubby to be mistaken: there was a desk, a TV, a little minifridge and microwave, and one large bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh, I thought—I told the clerk I needed a room for two.” Dr. Coomer said quickly as they entered the room. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> the room was strangely cheap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” Bubby glanced down at his and Dr. Coomer’s hands clasped together. “Maybe she assumed we...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer looked down at their hands as well before pulling away to twirl his hair between his fingers with an embarrassed laugh. “Oh. Right. I-I was...I didn’t want to lose track of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby only shrugged and crossed his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can go back down and ask for another room with two beds.” Dr. Coomer offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you said this was cheaper.” Bubby pointed out, looking away nervously. “There’s no reason to go and make this more expensive than it has to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I already budgeted this trip! It’s really no trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care.” Bubby insisted, hoping his face wasn’t growing too red. “I mean, I can sleep on the floor, or...you know. I—we’ve been friends for decades, it’s not a big deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer snorted. “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left their bags behind in the hotel, Dr. Coomer dragging Bubby back outside to see the sights of the city before “the event.” He took Bubby to a restaurant, which offered food so much better than Bubby had ever gotten from Black Mesa or his own cooking. After that, they milled in and out of stores—it was so strange, seeing such a high concentration of things they could just buy and immediately have mixed in with so many people he’d never seen before in his life and would likely never see again. They were in a clothing store when Dr. Coomer held something up enthusiastically for Bubby to look at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A jacket?” He asked flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’d look nice in it!” Dr. Coomer told him, taking it off the hanger and holding it out to Bubby. “If you wear this, you’ll fit right in at the co—I mean, the event.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fit in?” Bubby asked anxiously. It was a leather jacket with metal studs on the shoulders—he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no, but I think it would be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby slipped the jacket on over his plain white t-shirt and turned towards one of the mirrors conveniently set out nearby. “Huh.” He said quietly. He didn’t have a whole lot of clothes that could be considered fashionable—he didn’t ever have a need for it, after all—but if he was going to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice thing (besides the suit he’d probably never wear again after Dr. Coomer’s wedding), maybe he’d allow it to be this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That looks great on you!” Dr. Coomer complimented enthusiastically, taking Bubby’s upper arms from behind him and staring into their reflection. “That settles it! I’m getting it for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bubby questioned. “No, I don’t need it. You’re already paying for the hotel and literally everything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve already saved a bit on the room, not to mention a little after you stole those snacks from the gas station. I’d say it’s going to even out!” Dr. Coomer said, slipping the jacket off of Bubby and leading him to the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Dr. Coomer had purchased the jacket and they stepped back outside, it was already starting to get late. Dr. Coomer glanced down at his watch, making a hurried announcement that they should get going to make it to the event. To Bubby’s surprise, they took a taxi to some massive venue—Dr. Coomer explaining along the way that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t going to be fit to drive back with a conspiratorial wink—and followed along a long line looping around the building until they finally reached the end. Bubby investigated the other people lined up as they walked, spotting a strangely high amount of Mötley Crüe merchandise. As other people began to line up behind them as well, Bubby turned to Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this...a Mötley Crüe concert?” Bubby asked him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awww!!” Dr. Coomer lamented. “We got so close! I was hoping you wouldn’t find out until they walked out on stage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you gave me so much shit for liking them on the way here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t want to give it away!” Dr. Coomer said with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby snorted, squeezing Dr. Coomer’s hand in his own. “This is...pretty cool. Thanks, Coomer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to call me Coomer.” Dr. Coomer said suddenly. “We’re not in Black Mesa. You can call me Harold, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harold.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bubby replied. He held it together for only a second before he couldn’t resist bursting out laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, it’s just weird calling you that after all these years.” Bubby said, trying to stop laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer chuckled, punching Bubby hard in the arm playfully. “Oh, it can’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby punched him back, which sparked a brief playful fight before some random security guard stopped them. Bubby had half a mind to set him on fire, but Dr. Coomer squeezed his arm, as if he could already tell Bubby was considering it. Eventually, they got up to the front of the line and finally headed inside, where Dr. Coomer quickly took him to another line. Everyone there was waiting to get into a section of the massive open room that had been roped off for some reason, each handing a man stood at the end of it a card before heading inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” Bubby asked Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, this is the bar section. We can order drinks here, as long as we stay in this section.” Dr. Coomer explained to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So the man was checking IDs, then, Bubby thought. Bubby technically had his Black Mesa issued passport, but his had a disclaimer on it that rendered it useless outside of Black Mesa, so he didn’t even bother bringing it. By the time they reached the front of the line, the bouncer looked them over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I see ID?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right...” Dr. Coomer muttered, pulling out his wallet and casting a worried glance at Bubby. He handed the man his ID, and he only glanced at it before handing it back and looking to Bubby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, forgot mine.” Bubby lied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, man, can’t let you in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me!” Bubby snapped, indicating up to his head. “I’m balding </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> graying. You think I’m a teenager? Just let me the fuck in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man put his hands up defensively. “Alright, dude, Jesus. Go on in.” He lifted the rope for Bubby and Coomer to enter as Dr. Coomer shot Bubby an amused smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them ordered their drinks, standing fairly close to the stage as they waited for the show to start. To Bubby’s deep disappointment, there was some sort of pre-show, a band he’d never heard of before playing a few mediocre songs before there was another wait for the real show to start. By the time the band actually stepped out on stage, Bubby was getting a little more than tipsy, and let out a loud, enthusiastic yell with the rest of the crowd. To his excitement, they announced that they would not just be playing some of their popular songs, but also debuting a few new, never-before-heard songs off their new album.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the greatest night Bubby ever had. Just screaming along to the songs he knew, fully enjoying the songs he didn’t, standing hand in hand with his closest friend of well over 20 years now—he never would have gotten any of this if he had chickened out. Was this the life he had been missing out on? Eating genuinely good food, just wandering around aimlessly, going to concerts with the people he loved? As they played one of his favorites, Bubby began to tear up against his will. He reached drunkenly for Dr. Coomer, pulling him in close to his side as he wiped at his face. Dr. Coomer said something to him, but Bubby couldn’t hear over the music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bubby called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer leaned in close to Bubby’s ear and shouted, “are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “Thank you, Harold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer smiled, looping an arm around Bubby’s waist. “Of course!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby got over his sudden burst of emotion just in time for them to play a new song. It started out with a wailing guitar solo that Bubby immediately fell in love with, the chorus following not long after—</span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s the one they call Dr. Feelgood, he’s the one that makes you feel alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and Bubby looked back down at Dr. Coomer with a wide, unreserved smile. Dr. Coomer had already been looking at him, face flushed from the alcohol. He looked so different from when Bubby had first met him; his hair was much grayer, now, but retained a lot more of its color at this point than Bubby’s had. He was starting to get wrinkles along his face as well—Bubby hadn’t even noticed until just now. His face felt warm as he stared at him for a long moment, the song almost fading away entirely as his whole focus went into Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer stared back with a content, proud smile, a smile that filled Bubby with so much adoration, it made it blatantly clear to him there was only one thing he wanted above everything else Dr. Coomer could have done for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby placed his hands on each side of Dr. Coomer’s face. He opened his mouth to ask if he could kiss him, but Dr. Coomer moved first, wrapping one arm around Bubby’s lower back and placing the other against the back of Bubby’s neck. They were quick to close the gap between them, practically smashing their lips together, but Bubby savored every second of it before they finally pulled away, only just enough to look at each other again. After a moment, they both began laughing gently, inaudible over the music—just a relatively private moment between them as they pressed their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a long time, reveling in the moment for as long as possible until the next song grabbed at their attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the concert ended, and Bubby and Dr. Coomer wandered outside hand in hand to wait for a taxi. It took a long time to get one, but Bubby didn’t mind just standing outside with Dr. Coomer in a comfortable silence. They didn’t talk the whole way back to the hotel—Bubby’s throat was raw after so much screaming, and Dr. Coomer was probably just exhausted—and once they were back at the hotel, it took every ounce of Bubby’s remaining energy to actually change into his pajamas before collapsing into the large bed beside Dr. Coomer. He laid just on the edge of it, trying to give Dr. Coomer as much space as he could before he felt his hand tugging gently on his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to sleep like that.” Dr. Coomer told him with an amused smile. “There’s plenty of room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby turned over on his side to face Dr. Coomer, shuffling in a little closer. Dr. Coomer did the same, slowly placing his hand over Bubby’s. Bubby stared down at their hands, then looked up into Dr. Coomer’s eyes before shuffling in even closer, draping his arm over him and burying his face into Dr. Coomer’s chest. Dr. Coomer chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms around him and letting out a quiet sigh of contentment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much for this.” Bubby murmured into Dr. Coomer’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer replied, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Anything for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby and Dr. Coomer stayed in the hotel most of the next day, despite Dr. Coomer’s promise that they were going home that morning. They stayed in out of necessity, both struggling with hangovers from the night before. It was most certainly miserable, but Bubby still couldn’t help but savor each moment he had with Dr. Coomer in the world outside Black Mesa. As they laid together on the bed, barely paying any attention to the channel on TV Bubby had picked out, he heavily contemplated simply telling Dr. Coomer he wasn’t going back. Why should he? He was already out, so what reason would he have to ever return?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t...” Dr. Coomer paused, shuffling closer to him. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby sighed. Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to ignore it, he knew the reason he had to return. “...No. I should go back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “...Black Mesa will find me, Coomer. It’s...best we just go back. The consequences of getting caught wouldn’t be worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, I don’t know that I could survive out here.” Bubby admitted shamefully. “As far as the entire world is concerned, I don’t even exist. I probably couldn’t get a job or a house, so...this is for the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I could—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harold, it’s okay.” Bubby interrupted. “I...don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, when Dr. Coomer felt recovered enough, the two of them got on the road. Bubby struggled a bit with his lingering nausea, miserably munching on saltines Dr. Coomer had gotten for him as they listened to the Mötley Crüe album Dr. Coomer already had in his car. There were a million thoughts running through Bubby’s head, now—particularly as he thought about their kiss last night. His heart soared when he remembered it, but now as they were approaching Black Mesa again, he wondered if it had been the right thing for him to do. Even after over 20 years, Black Mesa was still too much of an issue; if Dr. Coomer had the choice to leave, Bubby wouldn’t want to take that away from him by getting too emotionally involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, they were already so emotionally involved at this point, he wasn’t sure Dr. Coomer would ever just get up and leave even if they simply stayed friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby shook his head to himself. No, he couldn’t even be considering this. Even if they decided to get together despite it all, what would happen when Dr. Coomer had to retire? Or if he suddenly got fired, for that matter? It wasn’t just about Bubby’s guilt—there was still so much to consider, so much keeping them at arm’s length. Bubby let out a deep sigh as they pulled into the parking garage, turning to Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Umm...can I talk to you about something?” Bubby asked as Dr. Coomer undid his seatbelt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, of course! Let’s just get back to the dorms, the guards won’t be distracted long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby and Dr. Coomer headed down to the dormitories briskly, breathing a sigh of relief once they were inside the safety of Dr. Coomer’s dorm. He set his suitcase aside, pulling up one of the dining room chairs and inviting Bubby to sit as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...first off, that was the best night of my entire life.” Bubby began, giving him a small, genuine smile. “I’m really glad I went. I don’t know how I could ever thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need!” Dr. Coomer replied with a grin. “I love you. That’s reason enough for me to do something nice for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby’s stomach twisted with guilt at that. He let out a deep sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s...sort of what this is about, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer’s smile immediately fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I may have...uh, been too...</span>
  <em>
    <span>impulsive.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bubby continued awkwardly. “I mean—I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to kiss you. And I don’t necessarily regret it. It’s just...well, I wanted to be sure you know that I still don’t think us being together is a good idea, since I’m—you know, I can’t leave officially.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands together in his lap. “...I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Bubby said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to apologize. I think you’re right. It’s just...” Dr. Coomer glanced up at Bubby, looking ready to say something before he shook his head and stared back down at his lap. “Well, that’s not important. I’m...happy that at the very least, I can be your friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded as well. “Yeah. Me too.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh my god there was only one bed</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a little awkward at first as Dr. Coomer and Bubby settled back into their routine, just like the first time Bubby had rejected him so long ago. Eventually, though, after a week or two, they were right back to their strange normal—just Bubby, Dr. Coomer, Dr. Coomer’s three hundred clones, and Bubby’s hundreds of prototypes. Completely normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the span of a few years following their little trip, Bubby expected Dr. Coomer to reach his limit with the clones, but he showed no signs of being particularly bothered by it all. The Coomer clones even warmed up to the idea of talking to Bubby himself after a long time, and this was when Bubby found they’d slowly grown into their own lives; a good number he’d started talking to more casually were shockingly different from the original Dr. Coomer, some getting more reserved and others becoming much meaner than Bubby ever thought Dr. Coomer would have the capacity for. It became easier to separate them in his head like they had wanted—he could have a few Coomer clone friends, but the original Dr. Coomer was always the one he cared most for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t just Coomer clones, either; over the following years, Bubby had slowly grown to be marginally more sociable than he had been the majority of his life, earning him a few more people who he could consider friends. Most notably was a young man named Tommy Coolatta who usually floated around between different departments—he was fine, not necessarily the type Bubby expected to get close to, but he admired his passion for science at least. After some coordination, Bubby, Tommy, and Dr. Coomer all ended up in the same department together, working on portals using samples from some alien planet; it was an exciting project at first, but years of mostly fruitless work slowly turned the job monotonous just like everything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least, until the resonance cascade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That day had felt...odd. Bubby was in one small section of the lab, working with a couple other scientists as they prepared for a highly anticipated test. Had he even woken up and gotten out of bed? He couldn’t quite remember. He couldn’t even process how strange it was that he couldn’t remember. His brain was on one single track: get ready for the test. Wait for Gordon Freeman. Begin the test. Everything would be fine—everything would go exactly the way it was meant to. For better or for worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The test itself was a massive failure, though—Gordon did something wrong with the sample, resulting in the destruction of the entire Black Mesa facility—and what infuriated Bubby most was that he refused to take responsibility for it, instead blaming it on some poor security guard who was only trying to do his job. The guard was alright for a guard, at least—named Benry, never questioned Bubby’s motives or anything like the others did. Gordon was quick to take up the leadership role, guiding the little troupe to safety outside the facility; he did an okay job at it, at least, and Bubby decided to set aside his grudge about the resonance cascade for the time being until they were safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, Bubby came to a strange realization. There wasn’t anything in particular that even sparked it—it was just a moment where things snapped into place, and he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like a magic eye picture he’d been looking at wrong his entire life until he finally saw the true image.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of this was real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So many fucked up things had already been going on, Bubby couldn’t even begin to entertain going through any grief about it; in fact, it was comforting, in a way. If all of this was fake, that meant everything would be assuredly okay, right? They couldn’t die unfairly in the hallways of Black Mesa if they were there for a reason. The rules of their reality would ensure that they would always be there to fulfill their purpose—which revolved around Gordon, somehow, Bubby could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. Honestly, that part made him grow bitter; he’d gone through so much in his life, or at least he </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> he did, and for what? Just to run around holding some random guy’s hand through Black Mesa, just so they could all be abandoned and fall into obscurity?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Bubby needed any confirmation about their world being fake, he got it when he impulsively leapt onto the rocket to be launched into space. It wasn’t like he could die, so what would the harm be? The roar of the engines drilled into his ears as it ascended further and further up towards the suspiciously flat looking sky. Had it always looked like that? Bubby wondered. He could have sworn everything looked more real prior to Gordon’s arrival. Bubby looked back down, finding the clearing he’d just been in all contained neatly into a little box, sat in the middle of a vast, empty void. Bubby clutched his chest, a moment of panic rising in him as he looked around. It wasn’t hot or cold anymore, not even warm. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The rocket stopped suddenly, simply blinking out of existence and leaving Bubby floating there in the void.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby wanted to head back down into the physical world, but he just floated there, panic slowly beginning to drain away. It was sort of peaceful out here. Quiet, safe—nothing dangerous would be lurking up here. He stared down into the many interconnected boxes that made up part of the world he’d lived in for so long, like a maze for lab rats, until he found the tiniest glimpse of Dr. Coomer again. He’d seen this as well, Bubby recalled—it must have been terrifying for him to leap out of their world, only to find nothing and realize it was all a lie. Bubby sighed, floating back down towards the physical world again until he reached the room the rest of the group was in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Dr. Coomer and Tommy had already gone to sleep for the night—well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>died</span>
  </em>
  <span>, actually, but what difference did it make in this world?—Bubby headed back up to the void again for a few minutes, reveling in how peaceful he found it. He used to be terrified of open spaces like this; if he’d been launched up here while he was in his 30’s, he probably would’ve had a heart attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby felt a strange </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It wasn’t a physical sensation, more an existential one; like his motivations, his thought processes, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span> were all simply returned to him. Like whatever world he was in would take hold of him, dragging him along a pre-determined path whether he liked it or not, but only as long as Gordon was there to experience it. Bubby shook the static from his head and returned to the room with the others again, finding Dr. Coomer curled up and sleeping like any regular person would as opposed to the strange position he had simply died in a minute ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Coomer.” Bubby whispered, shaking his shoulder gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer opened his eyes, looking around in surprise before locking eyes with Bubby. “...Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby sat with his legs curled up against his chest as Dr. Coomer pulled himself up as well. They both stared wordlessly at where Gordon </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be, provided he was the same as them. He had simply disappeared though, and would reappear again later, acting as though nothing was abnormal. Did he even know? Bubby wondered. Would Bubby ever be capable of acknowledging it while he was around, for that matter?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...So, you noticed it, too.” Bubby muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you make of it?” Bubby asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s...” Dr. Coomer rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s terrifying, Bubby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. He may have skipped right to acceptance, but he understood Dr. Coomer’s fear—it made sense to be terrified of the way one’s entire reality, everything they had experienced, had been torn right out from under them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What does it mean for </span>
  <em>
    <span>us?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Dr. Coomer questioned, looking Bubby in the eye. “What about our entire lives? I was born, I went to school, I met you—we </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span> Black Mesa, Bubby. You remember that, right? You remember the concert?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hit Bubby then in a strange, almost nauseating epiphany how clear Dr. Coomer’s expression was. He was distraught, scared, desperate—while Gordon was around, he was still the same old Dr. Coomer in basic ways, but...well, Bubby wasn’t sure how to describe it. Like a significant part of his awareness just melted away until he could rarely just </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to someone. Bubby got it sometimes, too—times when something else took over entirely to convey specific information to Gordon, or when it felt like his entire existence just checked out for a minute—but why did Dr. Coomer have it so bad?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I remember that.” Bubby reassured him. He glanced back out the window, up at the false sky. “I don’t know what it means. Not being real is so...incomprehensible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What matters anymore, then?” Dr. Coomer asked, wrapping his arms around his knees tightly. “If my entire life is a lie, then...then...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer buried his face behind his knees, falling silent. Bubby reached out to him, gently rubbing his back comfortingly. He wanted to say something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make him feel better about it, but what could he say? Maybe he should be just as upset as Dr. Coomer, he thought bitterly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tommy spoke suddenly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby looked down at Tommy, who was still laying on his side, but looking at them as he propped his head up in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought that you guys knew.” Tommy said, fiddling with his tie in his free hand. “I’ve always known it was a game.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A game.” Dr. Coomer echoed quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s like...it’s like, uhhh, a script.” Tommy explained casually. “I don’t think we’re doing things the way, like, we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, though. I think this game is a little fucked up because of us. We’re not supposed to know, but I guess we do, for some reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I guess, like, just because we aren’t out in some other...realer world than the one we’re in now doesn’t make it—doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter or anything, I don’t think.” Tommy continued thoughtfully, rolling over to lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling. “That’s the way I always thought about it, at least. Even if the things I remember before the game started didn’t—like, didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen in an observable way, doesn’t mean it didn’t shape the way I am now. I remember it all for a reason. It’s important to me, and I still—still feel scared or happy or sad when things happen or I remember things. Just because the things I experience don’t happen, like, in a whole different world, doesn’t mean they don’t have significance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> finds them significant. Gordon cares, I care, you guys care. So why wouldn’t it matter, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer seemed to relax a little as Tommy went on a shockingly poignant monologue about the subjectivity of reality. Bubby was glad for that, at least, but he didn’t take too much comfort in it. Tommy’s words just didn’t quite reach him through the thick layer of spite building up inside him as he looked back at where Gordon had been before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Tommy and Dr. Coomer finally went back to sleep, Bubby headed back outside where the rocket had been launched, finding that skeleton that had begun appearing every now and then sitting on one of the rocks. It just stared blankly at the world around it. Bubby approached it, leaning against the rock wordlessly and looking up at the sky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fucked up.” Benry’s voice suddenly said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby looked back up, finding Benry sat there in the skeleton’s place—had he ever been a skeleton at all? Bubby sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think he, like, doesn’t even realize.” Benry went on, resting his chin in his hand. “He wants to get out so bad, but he can just check out whenever he feels like it. We’re the ones stuck here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was vague, but shockingly lucid for Benry, all things considered—Bubby understood what he was getting at. Gordon wasn’t tied to this world the way everyone else was. What was it like, being able to leave their entire existence for a different one?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even think I get a backstory like you guys do.” Benry babbled. “I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I’m friends with Tommy, but you guys talk about all that shit you used to do before the test or whatever, and I can’t even remember anything. I just like, started </span>
  <em>
    <span>existing</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of nowhere. I don’t even know why I gotta be here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby had no idea what he could even say to that. He just nodded sympathetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happens when he leaves forever?” Benry asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby shrugged slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think the military, like, is only actually supposed to be after </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Benry said thoughtfully. “I just get this feeling that none of this is the way it’s supposed to go, like...I don’t know. Why do we gotta be doing all this shit for him, getting shot at and everything, when we’re not even really supposed to be doing it? Why does he gotta be leading us through all this shit when he should have, like, the ability to take us somewhere better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does he, though?” Bubby questioned. “I don’t even get the impression he’s fully aware of this being a game, somehow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, dude.” Benry grumbled. “I just wish...he </span>
  <em>
    <span>got </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. I’m just fucking with him, y’know? I don’t know what else to do, ‘cuz if he gets bored and leaves, what even happens to us? Does he even think about that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby got the impression he was only just barely scraping the surface of some incredibly complicated feelings he didn’t even know how to voice. He couldn’t blame him—it was a weird situation, and as far as Benry could tell, he only just started existing a few days ago. How was he supposed to react to all that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Gordon returned, the game snapped Bubby back into that strange state, but the alien desire to see him succeed wasn’t necessarily all-encompassing. The spite was still there, and the vague memory of his conversation with Benry nagged at him. It nagged at him so much that when Benry suggested they turn Gordon over to the military, Bubby was willing to fight tooth and nail against his programming to make it happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t as satisfying to see as he had expected. The military did something he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> they weren’t supposed to do—something about the moment felt right, like he truly was meant to be ambushed after all, but the sound of knife slicing through bone and Gordon’s guttural scream of pain shocked Bubby out of his anger. The military wasn’t supposed to cut off his arm—and Gordon wasn’t supposed to feel pain at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Gordon passed out, Bubby was ready to turn and follow Dr. Coomer—but he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and everything around him went black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So betraying Gordon was a mistake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stood there in his tube—they hadn’t even bothered filling it up, they just stuck him in there—waiting for someone, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> to approach. He felt...guilty. Dread. A deep, instinctual knowledge that things were never going to go back to the way they were meant to—or were they ever going to follow the true predetermined path at all? These were all thoughts too deep for him to truly entertain in this state, though; all he knew was that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get back on Gordon’s good side, take their situation a little bit more seriously from now on. If things weren’t going the way they were supposed to in the game, what sorts of consequences would lie ahead for them if he pulled something like that again?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He managed to convince Gordon to let him out of the tube, though, and they pressed onward, things only going more and more off the existential rails from there. Benry’s behavior grew stranger and stranger, and before Bubby could even process what was happening, they were facing down against him in the chamber of what he knew was supposed to be the final boss. In the deep reaches of Bubby’s programming, something screamed at him as they listened to Benry ramble about video games and dick slips: if they failed here, there could be irreparable damage done to their world. Benry’s code must have been corrupted, and he would likely stop at nothing to prevent them from reaching their final goal if he had any say in the matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On some level, though, Bubby understood the motivation. Once Gordon finished the game, what would happen to the rest of them? Would they just be forgotten? Fade out of existence as Gordon moved on? But on the other hand, Bubby knew they couldn’t go on like this. He had to be stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had to let Gordon move on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the time they’d spent together, Bubby couldn’t help but grow at least a little fond of Gordon. Just as suspected, he didn’t seem to fully understand the game—maybe he was only a puppet for the true player. Was that really something to envy? Being inherently tied to the game, and yet being so disconnected from it in ways that wouldn’t allow him to fully exist there the way Bubby and the others did? And despite the deep, instinctual knowledge that his new friends weren’t fully real, Gordon still seemed to care so deeply for them. That was something to admire, at least, and Bubby wasn’t going to let that go unappreciated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a tough fight, but after the passports were destroyed and Benry was defeated, the group went to the last place in their entire existence Bubby had ever expected to go. A lengthy argument between Gordon and some man who was apparently Tommy’s father eventually led them to Chuck E. Cheese.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was so baffling, it just became another one of those things that Bubby accepted. Why not? It was better than what Bubby had feared. Getting to sit down and eat pizza with his friends instead of instantly fading out of existence was nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had to come to an end eventually, though. As they sat at the table, Bubby felt that </span>
  <em>
    <span>click,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and a telltale fade to black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby stood in an unfamiliar field with Dr. Coomer. He looked around curiously; it was mostly just an open lawn with a little pond off to the side, but there were some buildings framing the box map they were in, some they could go into and others only giving them the illusion of being in the middle of some sort of city. He’d never been here in his life, but at the same time, Bubby knew this place by heart—it was the picture of a perfectly generic map, made for nothing but fucking around in. Dr. Coomer stood by his side, looking just as confused and yet just as at home as Bubby felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are we here?” Bubby asked. “Where’s everyone else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...I think I did this.” Dr. Coomer replied slowly. “There’s...something I want to say to Gordon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. It didn’t make total sense, but somehow, he understood it perfectly. “I think we can manage. Give me just a second.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a highly confusing moment, Bubby managed to spawn in a simple telephone for Dr. Coomer to use. He wasn’t sure if it would truly reach Gordon, but it was worth a try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer poured his heart out into what could be his final message to Gordon. Suggesting he transfer their data somewhere else for new experiences, hoping Gordon wouldn’t forget about them. By the time he finished, he gave Gordon a characteristically cheery goodbye before hanging up the phone and setting it aside with a deep sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...What now?” Bubby questioned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer reached out to Bubby, taking his hands in his own. “I suppose we wait. See if...he ever comes back to us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby squeezed Dr. Coomer’s hands. “It’s not fair that our entire existence hinges on him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Does it, though?” Dr. Coomer asked, looking up at the sky. “I’ve been thinking about what Tommy said. About all the time we spent together before the game started. I...don’t know for sure, but I get this feeling that it truly did happen, in a strange, convoluted way. Perhaps even...retroactively, if that makes sense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby shook his head. “It really doesn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed, shaking his head as well. “Oh, I don’t know how to explain it. But...I just hope you believe me when I say I get the feeling everything is going to be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Of course I believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled Bubby in for a hug after that, wrapping his arms so tightly around him, Bubby wondered if he truly believed his own statement at all. Bubby hugged him back, burying his face in Dr. Coomer’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, Bubby.” Dr. Coomer murmured. “Even if nothing else is real, I...my love for you feels real. I hope that’s enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bubby clung to Dr. Coomer tighter, a lump forming in his throat. “I love you too, Harold.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bubby opened his eyes. The familiar aches and pains of sleeping on a crusty, carpeted floor gripped his joints as he pushed himself up, looking around a room lit by buzzing fluorescent lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were in Chuck E. Cheese again. Everyone had simply passed out on the floor at some point, scattered around between the chairs and tables—at least Tommy had a shockingly three dimensional Sunkist to rest on like a pillow. An exhausted looking teenage employee stood over Bubby, hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, you guys, we just closed 5 minutes ago, I wanna go home.” She said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the others began to stir, Bubby stumbled to his feet, eyeing Gordon as he stared up at the ceiling blankly. He’d been so quiet all afternoon at Tommy’s party—probably exhausted, Bubby had assumed, but he seemed to be grappling with some sort of existential crisis right now as he laid there. Dr. Coomer was quicker to kneel down by his side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come along, Gordon, we’d better leave this fine establishment.” Dr. Coomer said encouragingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon finally sat up with everyone else, putting a hand to his head as he stood up totally straight. Bubby tilted his head curiously, watching him look around at everything with some strange clarity he’d never seen in his eyes before. Slowly, the group left the Chuck E. Cheese, standing outside in the cool night breeze as they figured out what to do next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...guess I can take you guys to my place for now.” Gordon suggested, voice hoarse and exhausted. “Jesus Christ, my head hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would love to see your house, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer replied with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon nodded, looking around to get his bearings. A strange, chittering sound echoed from around the corner of the building. Gordon gasped and quickly made some weird motion with his hand, lifting it and closing all his fingers into a fist but his index like he was expecting to be holding something, then twitched his index inward like he was trying to click a button. He looked just as confused as Bubby felt after he made the motion, looking into his empty palm with his brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck is my crowbar?” He asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group leapt back as something with glowing eyes appeared around the corner. Gordon clicked on the flashlight on his HEV suit to reveal the creature—a headcrab, Bubby would have guessed—only to find a fat and fluffy raccoon. Everyone collectively let out a relieved sigh. Gordon gripped his head again, letting out a quiet, agonized groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asked him. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree, Gordon, we should get you home.” Dr. Coomer said, putting a hand around his shoulders. “Where do you live? We can take a taxi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like promised, Dr. Coomer hailed a taxi for them, and Gordon pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as he tried to remember the directions to his apartment. Eventually, they pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot, and everyone clambered out, following Gordon up to the appropriate floor. He patted his thighs, approximately where his pockets might be if he wasn’t wearing the HEV suit before sighing and knocking hard on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone Bubby didn’t recognize opened the door—Gordon had to remind everyone that he did indeed have a son that required babysitting while he wasn’t home—and once the babysitter was promised appropriate compensation for the all the extra time they had spent with his son, they were on their way, and Gordon took everyone inside. After quite some struggle, Tommy managed to help Gordon figure out how to remove the HEV suit without being at one of the docking stations, and Gordon helped everyone settle in for the night. The apartment was small; there were only two bedrooms, one for Gordon and one for his son Joshua, and the rest of the group was left to sleep in the living room. Dr. Coomer and Bubby were given the pull-out couch while Tommy slept on a mat on the floor. Once the door to Gordon’s bedroom was shut, Tommy pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking over the edge of Dr. Coomer and Bubby’s bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys, what the fuck is going on?” Tommy whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...not sure.” Dr. Coomer whispered back, twirling his mustache between his fingers thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought everything that happened before the game started...you know, didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen.” Bubby chimed in. “It feels like everything’s just...well...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gone back to, like, how it was before the game?” Tommy filled in as Bubby struggled to find the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re...not quite in a game anymore, are we?” Dr. Coomer said thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head. “I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where are we?” Bubby asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in Feetman’s apartment, obviously.” Benry called in suddenly from the balcony. He was sat on the folding chair set out there, sliding door popped open a little bit so they could talk to each other clearly. When had he even arrived? How was he still alive?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody else said anything. It was such a simple answer, so rooted in what was clearly around them, Bubby couldn’t help but nod. Maybe Benry was on the right track—why grapple so much with understanding a completely incomprehensible reality at this point? Why not just enjoy the time they had together?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time morning came, Benry was gone again, and Bubby wondered if he had even been there at all. Now that Gordon was finally rested, Tommy tried to start a lengthy conversation about reality with him, which only seemed to shut Gordon’s brain down, so they all sat together eating soggy frozen waffles from Gordon’s semi-broken toaster. Joshua seemed to be enjoying the company, at least—Dr. Coomer immediately took up the task of watching him on Gordon’s behalf once he seemed too dissociated to function properly. Bubby didn’t quite know how to act around children, but Dr. Coomer sure had a knack for it. He might as well have been the kid’s grandpa; Bubby would be lying if he said he didn’t think it was cute. Good thing he had no problem with lying to people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they were trying to figure out what to do next—everyone but Gordon no longer had a place to live anymore, after all—the group collectively jumped in surprise at the sound of Gordon’s wall phone ringing. Gordon let out a deep, relieved sigh when he realized there was no danger and stood to pick it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” He greeted. After a short pause, he quirked his eyebrow, glancing at everyone else. “...Dr. Breen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby instinctively gripped his chest as his heart began to race. It was fine, it made sense that Dr. Breen might call any old Black Mesa employee after an event like this, he tried to reassure himself—right? In fact, it might be even stranger if he was calling to look for Bubby specifically; surely he’d be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Dr. Breen’s problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon talked to Dr. Breen for a long time. It sounded a lot like they were discussing some sort of big, one-time payment after the resonance cascade before Gordon went quiet for a moment, turning to make eye contact with Bubby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Why do you ask?” Gordon questioned. As there was a pause, he pointed at the phone as he wiggled it briefly and lifted his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby crossed his arms tightly over his chest. If Dr. Breen knew he was with Gordon, would that mean he was trying to find him and take him back into containment? Bubby felt Dr. Coomer’s hand squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as he thought about it. Well, surely if Dr. Breen had his suspicions he was with Gordon, it would only be a matter of time before he found him if he was determined enough. Bubby nodded uncomfortably, holding out his hand. Gordon told Dr. Breen he was handing the phone over before placing it in Bubby’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Breen.” Bubby greeted flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Bubby. Glad to hear you made it out in one piece, at least.” Dr. Breen said. His voice was ragged—he surely must have endured quite some trauma after the resonance cascade. Good. “Well, as you can imagine, Black Mesa is pretty much done for. The government doesn’t want us conducting any more experiments like that, so...we’re shutting down for good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That means I’ve got nowhere for you to stay, anymore. I’m sure those new friends of yours can help you figure something out.” Dr. Breen continued. “One of our contacts made it clear that he wanted me to be sure I helped you file for citizenship and whatnot, so I’ll be mailing you some paperwork for you to fill out and take to the appropriate offices. After you get a bank account set up, we’ll wire you the remainder of your budget money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby’s head was already beginning to spin as he considered all of this. Paperwork? Citizenship? Bank account? It had been one thing to slowly begin processing the fact that he was surely never returning to Black Mesa, but they were actually going to help him get settled in society?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You still there, Bubby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Bubby finally answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no need to thank me. It’s not like I have a million other things I should be doing right now.” Dr. Breen huffed sarcastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I wasn’t planning on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Breen scoffed at that, requesting to speak to Tommy and Dr. Coomer after that. They each got a long turn to discuss loose ends with him before Gordon finally hung up the phone, rubbing his face exhaustedly. After a long, contemplative silence, Gordon finally spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys wanna rob a bank?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bank robberies were interesting, to say the least. Now that Bubby knew what to expect, the sudden inexplicable jump back into some video game world was immediately noticeable to him. The White House robbery/rescue didn’t end well—but once they were ejected from the game, Darnold managed to retain the money they had collected within the game and redistributed it to the group. They didn’t get anyone on their asses for robbing any banks—why would they, if it hadn’t been real? So was their money counterfeit? Whatever the answer was, Bubby didn’t give a shit. Between the stolen/fake money, settlement money from Black Mesa </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the government, and receiving the rest of his budget funds after setting up his bank account, Bubby had more money than he would ever know what to do with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Bubby and Dr. Coomer pooled some of their money together to buy a house. It was described to them by the real estate agent as “modest”, but living in locked rooms and an employee dorm all his life, Bubby considered it to be unmatched luxury. Four whole bedrooms, a front and back yard, a full kitchen, their own laundry room—Bubby could hardly believe once the paperwork was in order, it belonged to </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> and them alone. Nobody had the keys but him and Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them sat on their brand new couch exhaustedly with pizza and soda, most of their furniture unpacked and built after a long day of work. All of their things had been left behind in the dorms in Black Mesa, presumably destroyed after the resonance cascade, meaning they had needed to make many trips to various stores to slowly rebuild their collection of worldly possessions. New furniture, new clothes, new random knick-knacks they found while shopping that Dr. Coomer wanted to use to decorate their new house—it was nice, building their new lives from scratch. Dr. Coomer finished eating and leaned against Bubby, taking his hand in his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby?” Dr. Coomer asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you thought at all about what we should do, now that Black Mesa is gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby shrugged. “Besides take an extremely long nap, I didn’t have any plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer chuckled. “Yes, but is there anything you wanted to do in particular? Something you’ve always wanted to do, but couldn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One thing immediately popped into his head. Looking down at their hands, Bubby wrapped his free arm around Dr. Coomer, resting his chin on top of Dr. Coomer’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can think of one thing.” He said quietly. “...But I think we’re already there. Right? I mean, we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>living </span>
  </em>
  <span>together now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed. “It felt like such a natural decision, didn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “I just...want to be with you. That’s all I can think of right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, obviously, I can do that.” Dr. Coomer said, pulling away just enough to look Bubby in the eye. He gently took his hand back from Bubby so he could press his palm to the side of Bubby’s face, running his thumb over his cheek. “I’ve loved you ever since I saw you steal my food from the fridge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since I </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer snorted, pressing his forehead against Bubby’s. “Remember? You used to steal other people’s lunches out of the break room. One day, I caught you stealing mine. I don’t even think you realized it was mine, but you really seemed to like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Harold.” Bubby said, resisting a laugh so he could sound unimpressed. “Is that what did it? Years and years of being in love with me, and it started because you caught me stealing your lunch? Your taste in men is atrocious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer laughed loudly. “Well, it got us here eventually, didn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby finally laughed quietly, putting his hand to Dr. Coomer’s. “I think it was the first time we stargazed together that got me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the meteor shower?” Dr. Coomer asked with a grin. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was romantic! I got you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them laughed some more, letting out contented sighs once the laughter died down. Dr. Coomer looped his arm around Bubby’s neck, drawing him in for a kiss. It was so much better than the first kiss they’d had at the concert—not that Bubby didn’t cherish that memory all these years—and once they pulled away, Dr. Coomer draped himself dramatically across Bubby’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting too old.” He complained. “It’s only 8 o’clock, and I want to go to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> just spend all day moving and building shit.” Bubby pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby sat like that for a while, watching TV until they both fell asleep on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon and Tommy (who was joined by Darnold) were quick to follow their example, purchasing homes in the same neighborhood. Bubby wasn’t exactly too certain what Benry was doing with his share of the money; he certainly didn’t buy a house—he just seemed to float between everyone’s houses at will, always talking about his video game projects as he came and went. Bubby couldn’t be too irritated by it—the whole group could have moved into his house permanently, and he probably wouldn’t even care. The only thing that surprised him was that Gordon seemed to get used to Benry’s presence so quickly; he had assumed he would be furious, refusing to let Benry ever get close again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came to realize as months rolled by that Gordon was making slow adjustments to living this way. Clearly, he had had a “backstory” as Benry had put it during the game—otherwise, he wouldn’t have Joshua. But just like Benry’s tie to Tommy, Bubby wasn’t even sure Gordon truly felt he </span>
  <em>
    <span>experienced</span>
  </em>
  <span> his life before Black Mesa. Benry and Gordon had a lot in common, in that sense; having to get used to living a life that wasn’t programmed into them, a life with consequences and rules not simply tied into gameplay mechanics. Perhaps after everything, it was that solidarity that earned them a mutual understanding, Bubby contemplated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, other than the general trouble the group seemed to be dead set on getting themselves into, their lives were relatively peaceful. Without the need for jobs, Bubby and Dr. Coomer spent a good portion of their time traveling, catching Bubby up on the life experiences he missed out on living in Black Mesa. Many times, they were joined by whoever in the science team (or Benry) happened to be interested in their next trip, but Dr. Coomer and Bubby spent plenty of their time alone together, finally free to wholly enjoy each other’s presence without the shadows of Black Mesa looming over them. It was all Bubby could have ever asked for and more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the trips the whole group joined them for was their trip to Seattle. Bubby didn’t see the hype as they wandered around the city, but Dr. Coomer insisted there was something special he had planned for them that would make everything worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Harold, I’ve had enough surprises in my life.” Bubby nagged him as Dr. Coomer blindfolded him in the car. “Just tell me what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope!” Dr. Coomer chirped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on here?” Bubby asked the group.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to fucking, uhhh, space place.” Benry muttered, still clicking away at his little handheld game console.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Space Needle? We already did that.” Tommy commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s go again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t! You already got us banned there!” Gordon seethed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fuckin’ told you not to go into that box, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean the </span>
  <em>
    <span>elevator?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Is that what that was all about?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way Bubby was going to get an answer out of the group now that Benry and Gordon were arguing, so Bubby waited impatiently for them to arrive at their destination. He couldn’t possibly imagine what Dr. Coomer was up to, even as he led Bubby clumsily out of the car and through a strangely loud crowd, the rest of the group in tow. Eventually, Bubby was gently guided down to a mostly uncomfortable seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I take the blindfold off now?” Bubby asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet!” Dr. Coomer replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When can I take it off, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be patient, Bubby, I’ll tell you!” Dr. Coomer said, nudging him playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes passed, and finally, Dr. Coomer untied the blindfold once a crowd surrounding them began to cheer. Bubby looked around. They were in a massive auditorium, sat in seats closest to the stage without having to crane their necks to see the group stepping out. Bubby grinned excitedly when he recognized the group in an instant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another Mötley Crüe concert!” Bubby exclaimed over the cheers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you figuring it out before they stepped out this time.” Dr. Coomer replied, draping his arm over Bubby’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing could quite compare to the first time he’d ever seen them live—that night was uniquely magical for a number of reasons—but Bubby still wholeheartedly enjoyed this one, this time without the lurking knowledge of having to return to Black Mesa looming over him. The night would eventually end, they’d return to their hotel room, and the home they’d soon go back to would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The night was slowly drawing to a close, the band wrapping up when they made one final announcement to the crowd. Dr. Coomer gripped Bubby’s hand so tightly, the circulation was completely cut off in Bubby’s fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before we play this last song, I wanna ask two special people up to the stage!” The lead singer called out enthusiastically. “Harold and Bubby, c’mon up here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby looked to Dr. Coomer with wide eyes as he leapt up from his seat and pulled Bubby up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harold, what—” Bubby tried to ask, but Dr. Coomer was already dragging him along, looping around a back room that eventually led them to the stage. The harsh stage lights blinded Bubby momentarily as they positioned themselves by the microphone, the science team and Benry leading the rest of the crowd into a loud applause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lead singer stepped aside as the beginning chords to a song Bubby knew by heart began to play—the song they’d shared their first kiss during. Dr. Coomer took a moment to readjust the microphone to their height, nodding at Bubby with a massive proud grin. Bubby was nervous at first, but once he and Dr. Coomer got the first few words in, the anxiety melted away as the excitement of even just singing his favorite song with Dr. Coomer overtook him. Distantly, over the speakers, Bubby could hear the crowd beginning to sing along as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone shut up, this is our song!” Bubby shouted into the microphone before the chorus hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby forgot the crowd entirely after that, getting lost in the song with Dr. Coomer until it ended. His heart pounded from the adrenaline rush as the audience applauded for him, turning to look back at Dr. Coomer. He thought for a moment he’d disappeared from his side, only to look down and find him on one knee, popping open a small black box with a plain, silver ring inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, will you marry me?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby grinned. “Harold, you did all this just to ask me that?” He questioned. “Of course I will, are you kidding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer jumped back up to his feet, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it over Bubby’s finger with a wide smile. Bubby expected an excited hug or kiss after that, but Dr. Coomer turned to chuck the box into the crowd full force before scooping Bubby up to carry him bridal style as they could hear Benry’s Sweet Voice from the crowd. Bubby wrapped his arms around Dr. Coomer’s neck to hold himself steady while Dr. Coomer leaned back into the microphone. He screamed so loudly into it, the speakers whined from the feedback. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re getting married!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby didn’t want a particularly extravagant wedding—that just meant more things to plan. They kept things simple; they got married close to home in a small venue and only invited their close friends from Black Mesa, cutting down a massive number of things they would’ve had to handle. After a lot of the main plans were accounted for, Bubby and Dr. Coomer were quick to make a shared decision for the position of best man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer was sat at Gordon’s dining room table with Joshua as Bubby leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Gordon prepare Joshua’s lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect you guys to visit! How’s the wedding planning going?” Gordon asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Bubby answered simply. “We actually were wondering if you wanted to be the best man, Gordon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon turned to Bubby with wide eyes. “What? Really? Me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t get all excited.” Bubby huffed, crossing his arms. “You’re the only motherfucker I at least sort of trust not to fuck the whole thing up. I mean, you got us out of Black Mesa, so a wedding shouldn’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon got an emotional look on his face, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course, you guys! I’d love to be your best man! I’m—I’m so honored that you’d ask!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop getting like that, it’s not a huge deal.” Bubby snapped in embarrassment. “Just don’t fuck it up, we’ve been waiting to get married for like, 40 years now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon did a fairly good job as best man, considering how anxious he ended up being about it. Everything went according to plan with little fuss—a small wedding made for easy setup, after all. Dr. Coomer subscribed to the suspicion that it was bad luck somehow for them to see each other before the wedding, so Bubby spent his time during setup talking to his friends as they cycled in and out between their shared duties preparing. Soon, before the wedding was supposed to start, Gordon greeted Bubby in his corner, looking stressed, but proud of his work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s all set up!” Gordon announced with a smile. “Are you ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am.” Bubby said, straightening his tie. “You...did a pretty good job setting up. Thanks, Gordon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby looked nervously around the corner as everyone else began to gather around, sitting down to wait for the event to start. Obviously, no sign of Dr. Coomer. He swallowed hard, palms already growing sweaty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You nervous?” Gordon asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Of course not.” Bubby denied. “I told Harold before his wedding years ago, what’s the point in being nervous? It’s already set up, all I have to do is read my speech or whatever now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon laughed, placing a friendly hand on Bubby’s shoulder. “It’s fine to be nervous, man. You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah.” Bubby admitted quietly. “I threw such a fucking fit when Harold got married to his ex wife, because...I wanted it to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> wedding. And now that it’s actually happening, I keep worrying something horrible is going to happen, or...maybe...he’ll change his mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be great! Trust me, Dr. Coomer’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> excited. He punched me like, three times.” Gordon said with a laugh before his tone turned earnest. “I’m really, really happy for you guys. It’s nice to see you doing so well like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Thanks, Gordon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gordon glanced down at his phone to check the time. “Well, might as well head on up. You ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded, and the two of them headed up to the altar. Bubby loosened his tie around his neck a little bit, clearing his throat nervously as Dr. Coomer headed into the room. Bubby’s heart pounded as he watched him immediately sprint down the aisle, leaping up to the altar and pulling Bubby into a headlock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, you guys, you’re supposed to let me say a bunch of stuff first!” Darnold exclaimed from the podium behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer released Bubby, straightening his suit out for him before standing where he was supposed to. Bubby took Dr. Coomer’s hands, face flushing with embarrassment as he remembered everyone’s attention was on them. The two of them watched as Tommy urged Joshua to take the rings to the altar. He began tottering awkwardly down the aisle the way toddlers do, making it pretty far before getting distracted by something a few feet from his destination, taking the rings and running the opposite direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josh, wait, no, this way!” Gordon urged. “C’mon, buddy, you can do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joshua was already gone, though, shouting something loudly about cashews. Gordon sighed, patting Bubby’s back apologetically before hopping off the altar. He spent a good couple minutes chasing him down and urging him to just give him the rings before he returned to the altar, presenting them to Bubby and Dr. Coomer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, guys. I really thought he’d manage.” Gordon said as they accepted the rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your boy is very talented, Gordon.” Dr. Coomer replied with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darnold began his brief speech he’d prepared about life and romance—Bubby barely had the capacity to pay attention past his anxiety and excitement. Once Darnold asked them to read their own vows, Dr. Coomer cleared his throat, pulling out a paper from his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bubby, I...” Dr. Coomer started, voice already cracking. He stopped, wiping at the tears that were already forming in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Harold, get it together.” Bubby said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just so happy!” Dr. Coomer blurted out, dropping his speech to take Bubby’s hands again. “It’s been so long, you helped me through so much in my life. Thank you for staying with me through everything we’ve been through, I—I don’t know if I could have done it without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby chuckled a little, hoping the small sob that escaped his throat wasn’t too obvious. “Of course, Harold. I’m...glad you stuck with me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” Dr. Coomer sobbed, scooping him up tightly in his arms. “You’re the best friend I ever had, and I’m so, so lucky I get to marry you! Everything that happened in Black Mesa after the resonance cascade was so worth it now that we’re finally here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby hugged Dr. Coomer back for a second before he patted his back. “H-Harold, I can’t breathe like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer loosened his grip, but only just barely enough for Bubby to breathe easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re...I’m...” Bubby floundered. His speech was in his pocket, but being held like this made it impossible for him to retrieve it. “Y-yeah. Despite it all, I’m glad for it too. You...made being in Black Mesa bearable, and life out here on the surface is...tolerable, with you around. Thanks for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a pause, Darnold cleared his throat. “Are...you done?” He asked awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I don’t have anything else to say!” Bubby huffed. “You all don’t need to know my life story with him, he already knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darnold laughed quietly and nodded as Dr. Coomer set Bubby back down. “Alright. Well, uh, by the power vested in me by New Mexico, I pronounce you husband and husband. You—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer pulled Bubby in for the kiss before Darnold could finish talking. The small group cheered and applauded for a long, perfect moment before Dr. Coomer broke away to scream excitedly and tackle him to the ground. Bubby took a moment to recover from the impact before punching Dr. Coomer playfully in the chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you just be normal for five minutes?” Bubby demanded, unable to resist a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t! I’m full of love!” Dr. Coomer exclaimed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Dr. Coomer and Bubby got a hold of themselves, Gordon gave a long, emotional speech about how happy he was for Bubby and Dr. Coomer—which immediately had Dr. Coomer sobbing again. After he was finished, Dr. Coomer pulled Gordon and Bubby into a tight hug. It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally let them go so they could proceed with the reception, Gordon getting the playlist Dr. Coomer and Bubby put together playing while Benry immediately began decimating the bowl of vodka-soaked pineapple slices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Such a small party with their closest friends was the best decision they could have made, Bubby decided. Nobody else was good at dancing, either, and Bubby was pretty sure Gordon was just doing gun reload animations from video games while Benry did literally the only dance he seemed to know, so he only felt a little self conscious as he began dancing with Dr. Coomer. Once </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> song began playing—Call Me Irresponsible—Bubby let out content sigh, slipping into Dr. Coomer’s arms easily and dancing slowly. He remembered the times they’d danced to this before. Before Dr. Coomer’s wedding with Veronica, when the fantasy of marrying Dr. Coomer felt so painfully impossible. Then after their divorce, when the two of them had been through so much already, Dr. Coomer so broken after Veronica.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were together now, though, after all these years, finally celebrating their love for one another whole-heartedly. Bubby couldn’t be any happier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the wedding, Dr. Coomer and Bubby drove out to the desert. It was finally dark out, and by the time they assessed they were far enough from the light pollution of the city, Dr. Coomer pulled over and they climbed out to sit on the hood of the car. Dr. Coomer looped his arm loosely around Bubby’s waist, holding him close as they stared up at the night sky bright with twinkling stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Do you think the sky is actually there, this time?” Bubby asked Dr. Coomer suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I got on the rocket during the game, I went past the skybox.” Bubby explained. “It was just...well, you saw it. Nothing. I’ve always wondered since then if I tried to go up to space again, if I would go back to that void or actually make it out to space.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I don’t know. I think the world we’re in still isn’t...</span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>, strictly speaking, but...we’ve been able to go other places, so I don’t see why space is out of the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby shrugged. “It’s just...weird to think that all that time we spent stargazing together, maybe the stars were never actually there at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...” Dr. Coomer paused thoughtfully. “We still had fun looking at them, didn’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby looked back at Dr. Coomer, draping his arm over his shoulders. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Whatever lets us be here together after the game ended, Bubby, I’m...</span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> grateful for it.” Dr. Coomer said quietly, leaning his head against Bubby’s shoulder. “I was so afraid after Tommy’s party that would be it. I was happy we got Gordon to the end like we were meant to, but...we’re here now. And even if it’s not real, I don’t care. I’m just happy to be here with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby nodded. “Me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was going to say all that during our vows.” Dr. Coomer laughed. “I just got too emotional.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bubby snorted. “If you said that in front of everyone, I might have had to kill you, so it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Because I definitely would have started crying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer barked out a loud laugh. “Oh, we couldn’t have you crying at our wedding, could we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer and Bubby sat there in contented silence for a long time before Bubby slapped away the third mosquito of the night with a huff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christ, this is romantic and everything, but I’m getting sick of being eaten alive out here.” He grumbled. “Let’s go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Coomer nodded. “That sounds good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they hopped off the hood of the car to climb in, Dr. Coomer pulled Bubby in for another kiss. “I love you, Bubby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Harold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them climbed back into the car and began their drive home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OOF THAT'S IT FOLKS......hope y'all enjoyed it! there's a lot that came to mind post-game that i wanted to get to for the other characters but it just didn't fit well, being so boomer oriented...maybe i'll write some additional stuff for the others and throw it into a collection sometime...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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